A Few Years Difference
by vlora
Summary: What if Daria WAS a few years older at the start of the series? What if she had started off as a 22-year-old? How would her time in Lawndale be affected? DariaTrent, Alternate Universe
1. Her First Day

**Trent -** Too bad you're not a few years older, huh? I could take you out. _(chuckles, coughs) _See you. _(leaves)_  
_(Daria fantasizes once again) _

_(this time, Daria, dressed in a flowing emerald gown, is being courted by a clean, groomed, and well-dressed Trent) _

**Trent -** Daria, you're the best thing that ever happened to me.  
_(fantasy ends)_  
**Daria -** Damn.

What if Daria _had_ been a few years older?

Daria awoke in a dull haze in her new house; she was barely accustomed to living with her family again, let alone living with them in a new town. It was just her bad luck that her need to move back in with them (because she could no longer afford her own apartment) had coincided with their moving away from Highland. She rolled out of bed and trod on several books and plates; no more late night meals, she scolded herself as she peeled off a layer of _something _from the bottom of her foot.

It took a few moments before she was dressed; a v-necked green jumper and a black pencil skirt, partnered with a pair of black combat boots. The outfit was simple, but she needn't impress or scare anyone that day. She shrugged off the idea of adding a necklace or something else to her outfit. Not like she was going anywhere anyway. Her first order of business was to determine what people her age did in such a boring town, at least until she found herself some money and moved to a more appropriate location.

Usually Daria wouldn't be up at this time, but she had stupidly agreed to drive the red-haired brat to school so her father could get to his consultancy job. She reached the kitchen just in time to see her mother leaving, flailing a gesture of farewell. That left her with her father, flustering around as he prepared for his day, and her sinuously slow sister. "Hurry up Quinn, I want to go back to sleep," Daria said with a yawn and a stretch, though this gesture was obviously faked.

"Girls", Jake said, sounding like somebody starting a planned speech, "I just want you to know your mother and I realize it's not easy moving to a whole new town—especially for you, Daria, right?" He gave a small laugh, fiddled with his tie. Quinn smirked a little at his last comment; in every piece of praise they gave her, they often scolded Daria. The opposite was true as well, such as Quinn's grades or attention to homework.

Daria kept her eyes on her own breakfast before looking up to their father. "Did we move?'

Jake laughed and then ate a few more bites of his toast as he finally settled his tie. "I'm just saying you don't make friends as easily as... uh, some people."

Quinn simply coughed a little, finishing off her usual piece of plain toast and water.

Daria gave a gentle yawn and then took a last mouthful of her own breakfast. "Quinn, for instance?" she said in reply to her father, as she walked to the sink with her dirty dishes.

"That's not what I meant … necessarily," Jake said as he took Quinn's empty plate and glass to the sink as well. "The point is, the first day at a new school is bound to be difficult for Quinn; and you'll have to find your own crew to hang with," Jake added with a grin.

Daria accidentally leaned against the garbage disposal button next to the sink. 'Speak up, Dad! Can't hear you!' she mock-shouted, walking back over to the table.

"Uh, where was I?' He quickly turned off the garbage disposal. "Oh, yeah. Don't get upset if it takes you a little time to find friends here; I'm sure people will to warm up to you." Jake peered at his watch, gave a loud gasp, and ran out of the kitchen and, presumably, the house.

"Let's go then," Daria muttered.

"But Daria, I haven't even touched up my make-up or fixed my split ends for the day! People will point at me and think I'm some lazy freak and no one will like me, and it'll be your fault for rushing me!"

Daria stared. "Why are you sitting here then?"

Quinn snarled, showing the huffy moodiness Daria knew well from the morning routine, although most were blessed enough not to see it. It had only worsened with age, she noted. Daria settled down with a cup of tea to wait for Quinn's return, secretly hoping her sister would refuse to come downstairs because of a zit or a wrinkle in her shirt.

Unfortunately, Daria wasn't lucky enough and Quinn returned with her bouncy hair flicking out behind her. Daria managed to finish her tea in a few moments, tossing the empty cup into the sink with a shattering clink. She winced, reminding herself to fix that when she returned. Much to Daria's surprise, Quinn was already outside and testing the door handle of the car.

Within a few minutes, they were well on their way to some place called Lawndale High; they had passed it on the way in, so Daria had an idea of where the building was. As they passed through town, Daria would very briefly peer over her shoulder to the young girl in the back seat; her sister, only 14, was dolled up to look about 18 or 19. It was to be expected, it was what Quinn had gotten used to doing over her girlish magazines and stupid friends. 'Haven't I told you a hundred times -'

"How you look doesn't matter, it's who you are. The only thing you need is a nice smile and a positive outlook, blah, blah, blah," Quinn recited, her arms crossed over her chest. 'I know Daria, gah-wd! Just because _you_ were a total freak in high school doesn't mean _I_ have to be. This is my chance to totally re-do the Highland reputation _you_ left me,' she attempted to justify, her words falling onto deaf ears.

"I was going to say that if you don't stop eating all that toast you'll never lose those 3 pounds that hang over your jeans," Daria mumbled under her breath, clutching the wheel tighter. Quinn simply scoffed back at her sister and remained quiet the rest of the car trip.

Daria was a few years into her twenties and owned her own car; a crappy little number she bought when she could afford it. But that didn't mean she should be stuck driving her over-developed sister to her very first day at high school – at least, in this hellhole affectionately labeled 'Lawndale'. Daria held her doubts – Burbsville was more fitting. She pictured herself in the city, a big shot and using her newly gained major in English Literature and various other minors around language to rise to fame. But no, here she was, dragging herself out of bed at 7 in the morning to get her little sister to school.

The majority of the drive was masked by loud, obnoxious music and very little talking, just the way Daria and Quinn both liked it. Sometimes Quinn liked having an older sister chauffeur her around like the maid she preferred to pretend Daria was. The second they pulled up to the curb, Quinn was out of the car without so much as a goodbye.

However, the second car rolled toward the edge of the curb, Quinn was out of the car without as much as a goodbye. Daria sighed, throwing her arm over the side of the door; Quinn was already wandering off with a bunch of air-headed girls, all seemingly as transfixed on shiny things as her sister. She used the control to roll down the windows and clambered over to call out Quinn's name.

"Have a nice day, sis!" she called out, waving with an evil smile across her features. This was a far cry from the young girl she had been in her high school days… but years of loneliness, cynicism and aggravation had been worn away by her roommate in college. Well, some of it. She no longer held everyone in such low esteem, but she certainly wasn't about to mark everyone as a friend in her books. Even this limited shift to a more accepting attitude was badly strained when she looked around the school grounds and saw teens who could barely pronounce the letter 'A' driving cars ritzier than her own.

A beat up navy blue Satellite of some description sat across the road, a young girl getting out; she looked about 17 or so, sporting a short black bob and a red shirt. Something about her instantly made Daria smile, but she wasn't sure what – perhaps it was the fact she was so blasé about being late. Daria sat for a few more moments, her forehead pressed against the wheel. She had no job, she didn't know anyone here, and she had the sinking feeling she would have to take the dive; use her barely legal minor in teaching for a means of sustaining herself in this two-bit town. Just to build a nest egg; also, just to make sure she wasn't going to be stuck with her parents forever. Daria set the car into drive before spotting before spotting someone much more interesting; a man about her age, sporting a soul patch and a few piercings – he was smoking against his car, the same one she had noticed the girl getting out of.

Her hand was paused on the handbrake as she carefully observed this man; he seemed to be around her age. Were she more confident, it might have been an ideal start to a day; making a friend, getting a connection. Instead, she sat and gawked in surprise at someone so cool existing in this town. Dismissing the thought, she put the car in gear and drove off. She wondered whether the man had been looking her way but dismissed the thought as an over-hopeful delusion.


	2. Daria of Troy

Daria slumped into her car seat as she drove across town. Passing by countless grocery stores, cheap cybercafés and boring boutiques, she finally slowed to a dull crawl. Something on a hill caught her attention, a library. She smirked, parking in the nearly empty car park. Maybe she could find some books, maybe even another nerd to catch her attention … These were bound to be her kind of people.

The dusk of shelves and books fell upon her as she entered the air-conditioned room. There wasn't much to the space; just tables, computers and books. Occasionally someone would try not to cough in the distance whilst the elderly women who worked in the library organised their tabloids. She felt the click of her heels as she walked towards the fiction section, the sound seeming to resonate a little more than she liked. It caused people to turn and tilt their heads.

With a little searching and confusion, she found several volumes and left as quickly as possible. She liked the books, not the atmosphere; she liked the quiet, not the smell of old women. With a thump, the books were in the passenger seat and she set off home. There wasn't much else to do that day except enjoy the peace and quiet of home.

She'd get a job some other time.

Daria's good fortune ran out as soon as her family returned home; Quinn was first, with a group of three equally dressed-up girls. They were all giggling and chatting about something or other. Daria didn't really listen. What did catch her attention was the TV flicking on and the girls swarming around the screen.

It was so typical for them to force themselves into whatever space Daria was also in. She sighed, setting her book down. She examined the group; one was a petite Asian girl who seemed a little – not there. The other two were rather similar, both having brown hair … That was all Daria gathered before Quinn caught her attention.

"Uh Daria… can you like, not talk or go away or whatever? Thanks," Quinn giggled, her teeth bared in annoyance.

"Gee Kah-win, you didn't tell us your older sister was so …" Sandi paused, examining Daria. She seemed to swallow a few compliments before shaking her head, "different," she concluded. It was a safe bet; Daria figured it meant that Sandi could see positives yet chose a safer option. Sandi knew Daria was older; a small smirk passed over Daria's lips.

"You should see the barcode they put just behind my ear –"

"She's not my older sister. She's my live-in maid," Quinn explained, glaring at Daria rather pointedly. With that sentiment, Daria realised it was her life all over again. Quinn always tried to deny her presence in the family tree, so it hardly bothered her any more. She gathered her books and walked upstairs, her teeth gritted and face unreadable. At least in her room she could be alone.

Her bag fell to the floor just next to her door. The books tumbled from her arms to her computer desk and then she finally looked around. Dull blankets were thrown about her bed, and books were scattered across shelves. For her time in the house, she hadn't unpacked much; Daria was living out of boxes till she felt like actually cleaning it all up. As the sudden sound of sugar-glam-sparkle-pop started playing she flicked on her stereo system; she'd picked it up in college to combat the girls on her floor.

After several hours of reshuffling books and clothes (and reading the poetry etched into her closet door) she realised it was almost 8 at night; dinner was going to be home soon. Unfortunately, that also meant her parents would be home soon. And, as if the cosmic forces had read her mind, she was met with her mother at the door.

"Daria," Helen said gently, opening the door with a tentative smile and a small knock.

"Yeah mom?" Daria yawned, her hands on her hips as she examined her handiwork.

"I just came to see how your day went."

Daria looked over to her mother.

"…You didn't apply for any jobs," Helen asked as Daria nodded, 'you didn't make any friends, you also didn't…'

"I did unpack."

Helen smirked a little, her hand resting on her forehead, "Daria, there must be some way I can convince you to go out and party it up with your peers."

"I spent college doing that," Daria said in her usual monotone, the sarcasm still evident. They shared a moment of eye contact before Daria shrugged, "I met a guy," she lied, giving her mother a slanted smile. She wondered if Helen would question her or let it go.

"I'm sure you did," said Helen dismissively. 'You know your cousin's fallen in love with a boy from work, and she's around your age."

"I'll send her a Get Well card."

"Daria," Helen said in a warning tone, her hands laced together under her chin, "what I meant was – whatever happened to the nice boy you used to date? Tom wasn't it?" she said with a tilt to her head, hoping to incite some kind of interest in her daughter.

"It was Troy," Daria said with slight malice – the name had originally made her laugh, but now it just aggravated her – "he cheated on me – remember? With my best friend Jill? I should have seen it coming but – wait, you're not conning me into a conversation like this that easily."

"Daria, you're getting too old for bribes."

Daria raised an eyebrow. She clearly didn't think so.

"Fine," Helen conceded, "we won't talk about it … you do know about contraception though?"

"I'm 22."

"Well when a woman and a man love each other very much –"

"Wow, look at the time, gotta go out!" Daria said loudly, standing up and rushing out of the room. She actually did walk out of the house, rendering her slightly speechless. She was outside, and probably not going to admit defeat and go back inside. Though she wasn't exactly dressed for anything classy. A black skirt and a dull blue turtleneck hardly screamed high-style dining.

A drive; that would do. Maybe find a bar or a pub and have a soda and pretend to drink away her imaginary sorrows. Her stomach gave a low rumble; maybe dinner would go well with her soda. Slipping into her car, she made her way to the closest place she could find. It turned out a pizza place was open nearby, something that would work much better than any pub.

Pulling up she dodged past a cheerleader and what she assumed was a quarterback, who were arguing a quarterback who were arguing just out the front of the pizza place. Daria ignored their conversation and walked to the front counter; a slice of a pizza and a large cola. She set herself down in the last booth available and set to her rather satisfying dinner. Maybe her mother would think she was actually having a life.

In some stupid coincidence, the young girl and her older brother, the ones she'd seen in the morning when she was dropping Quinn off at school, wandered squinty-eyed into the neon-lit pizza shop. Daria sunk into her booth, staring wide-eyed at the counter in front of her. "Calm, cool, collected," she thought to herself. She wasn't the blushing girl from high school … She was a developed, elegant and educated woman.

"Hey, uh, there's no other free spaces… and you're sitting on your own," the older male said with a nearly suppressed yawn. His sister stood beside him looking a little annoyed and bored at the same time.

"Oh, uh, sure…" Daria conceded, shuffling aside so the two could sit down.

_Crap_. _Crap, crap, crap._


	3. Familiarity Within The World

Daria slipped a little further into the booth to allow room for the two new occupants. The older brother seemed as if he had just woken up despite the late hour. Part of her was tempted to question his odd appearance, but she thought better of the idea; she wasn't as shy as she had been in high school, but she wasn't all that fond of people and meaningless conversation. She liked her solitude and peace ... if friends came along, that was nice; if no one approached her, it wouldn't really bother her that much. She was only here to make money anyway.

Despite this resolute ideal of ignoring the pair, Daria kept her ears open to their conversation. As she sipped on her cola, they began discussing their days. Their offhand manner with each other and their references to domestic chores gave further confirmation that they were just brother and sister.

"So what did you do all day, Trent?" the younger girl asked, her hands tucked under her chin as she pretended to look interested. Daria had felt her attention snap to her accidentally at the question; she quickly turned her eyes back to her half-eaten slice.

"Slept."

The girl groaned, "How do you manage to sleep all day?"

"With my eyes closed," the male flatly replied. His name was presumably Trent.

"Ha, ha, maybe you should drop the music career for comedy. Audiences are more likely to give a pity laugh than a pity rock-out," the younger girl explained. Daria felt her lips curl; their conversation was surprisingly interesting for the usually self-absorbed Daria. She was somehow attracted by a sense of familiarity.

"No way, man, my music is where my soul is."

"Right – hey," the girl turned to look at Daria, her arm slung over the back of the booth, "just curious, what does Mystic Spiral sound like to you?"

Daria flushed a little. "Depends," she said cautiously, looking between Trent and Trentina – she didn't know the girl's name – with a little shrug. Perhaps the girl thought she was going to scare Daria off; maybe they held a reputation in the town; maybe they were part of a gang, or the mafia. Anything really to make her night more interesting.

"Y'know, as a band name."

"As a band name? Sounds like something that plays at college dive bars. A Doors cover band probably …" Daria conceded. She took a bite of her pizza, pushing some hair out of her face with her free hand. The two hadn't turned back to their conversation yet, looking a mix between amused and confused. Trent seemed more annoyed than amused, though.

The girl examined Daria and said, "You sound different."

"Monotoned – I think the problem is she sounds the same," Trent explained, his arm lying on the counter; maybe that comment was his way of exacting revenge for an injury to his pride.

"No, different-different ... Not your typical Lawndale townie."

Daria cursed being on the inner walls of the booth. All she wanted was pizza; was that so much? She wondered what to do or, at the very least, what to say. Disinclined to excuses and unable to escape without them, she hoped a few short, blunt answers would deter further interaction.

In this space of time, she had pretended to be eating and chewing thoughtfully before setting down a crust of pizza. "I just moved here from Texas."

"Get out of town," the girl said in a playful tone, mimicking a southern accent the best she could.

Trent said, "Jane, she just got here." Daria chuckled very quietly, remembering her first impression of the lanky teen getting out of her brother's car. She might be trouble but somehow Daria had instantly got the feeling that in another life they would have been partners in crime.

"I'm Daria," she said rather quickly, covering Trent's obvious misunderstanding. Was he really this dense, or just having a bad night? For a nice face and a grunge-band appearance, he was a little too air-headed for Daria's steadily increasing standards.

"Trent Lane." He extended his hand vaguely for a handshake.; he was sitting on her side of the booth so Daria had to sit back a little to allow the hand space. Daria eyed it for a moment, the pizza sauce having stained his fingers a dull red. "Oh." He rubbed his hand on his pants before returning to the previous gesture. Daria just smiled (a little more cringing than anything else) and shook his hand, her mind whirring away with dismissive thoughts.

"Jane," the girl now known as Jane interjected, her smile framed by bright red lips. Daria continued to feel rather familiar with this Jane girl, even if they had just met.

"Hey," said Daria succinctly.

The two groups continued their respective meals and seemed rather content in their own little worlds. Daria was thinking about what career she could achieve. whereas Jane and Trent were talking about what they could do for money; their parents were always short of cash. Their parents were also no help dealing with the police, who kept coming round about the too loud music.

Daria set off first, her plate clean within a short while. As she made a gesture to show she was getting up, Trent just leaned back – did he expect her to climb over him?

"Trent, just get up," Jane said with a small sigh, shaking her head as she settled into her third piece of pizza; Daria missed those days when weight was only affected by 10 or 11 slices of pizza. Trent obliged, standing up and moving slightly out of the way; he punctuated the gesture with a small flourish of his arm, raising an eyebrow at Daria, then Jane.

"Better?"

"You _can_ teach a drugged-up dog old tricks," Jane muttered.

"Thanks," Daria mumbled as she walked towards the door.

Trent and Jane seemed to settle straight back into their meals and continue their discussion; Daria's steps slowed unnoticeably, a pang in her chest. This felt wrong to her, as if she had to get some details or say some kind of goodbye. Swallowing her usual cynicism and distain, she turned back to the table and looked down at Jane and Trent. They returned looks suggesting they were curious about what she was going to say.

The problem was she didn't know what she was going to say.

After a brief moment, she nodded,"Uhm, I just wanted to ask ..." Her lack of words was uncharacteristic, rather bleating and pathetic. She cursed mentally, casting her gaze more toward Trent than Jane. "Is there anything to do in this town?"

"Not tonight," Trent responded, "but my band plays a gig at the Zon. If you say we sent you, you get $5 off entry and a free pretzel."

"And they get an extra $5," Jane added under her voice as she raised her cup to take a sip through her straw.

"So? It'd just be cool to see her there," Trent defended, a scowl coming across his features. He seemed to recoil from this expression, shaking his head. "Sorry. Uh. Not feeling like muse working right ..." he half-sighed.

"Broke up with his girlfriend," Jane added for clarity, finding amusement in decoding Trent's statements.

Daria wondered why Jane had bothered to clear up that particular point. Regardless, she pushed on and organised to go with Trent and the band to the gig; they lived only a block or two away, which was quite convenient. Daria felt a little rushed, but something told her these people did a lot of things without thought or logic to ruin the fun. She actually sat down for an extra moment to clear up details before standing up once more and heading back to the door.

And with each step, she felt she could hear their faint conversation;

"That was spooky..."

"How?"

"I saw her earlier after I dropped you off..." Trent pointed out. Daria looked back over her shoulder to see Jane staring after her; they seemed to have missed something. Their interaction seemed almost wrong in a way, as if they were meant for greater, better things. Trent was another story; it was one of those past-life moments she had always heard stupid theories about on Sick, Sad World. Now, she was starting to believe them...

But Daria shrugged this feeling off, decided it was just her imagination and fell into the driver's seat of her car. It wasn't long before she was home. Her mother complained because she had made food for the family and Daria hadn't been there for dinner, and whatever else her mother had an issue with. She had spent so long away from home, she'd forgotten about how overbearing and nonexistent her mother was at the same time.

To be fair, Eric only called a handful of times during their conversation on the staircase. Then Daria was in her room again, considering the reality of life with her family once more.


	4. Manifesting Destinies

The next few days were a dull, useless blur. With no job opportunities in sight, Daria watched what little money she had oozed from her account. She was down to her last $100, and with no job prospects in sight she was getting a little scared; maybe it was time to take herself to the pier with a cinder-block around those tiny little ankles of hers … At least her family could claim the money, and when she rose from the dead, she'd be set for life.

"I guess I do need a job," she reasoned softly, her hands tucked under her chin.

"Why are you talking to yourself?" a shrill little voice asked from across the room; Daria was snuggled downstairs in a huge blanket, her face the only thing visible. She had scattered packets of noodles and chocolate around her. The voice in question was that of Quinn; just what she needed.

"I was talking to my imaginary friend."

"I don't see anyone."

"What do you want, Quinn?"

"Well, I'm just waiting for my date to arrive," Quinn said in self-justification, crossing her arms over her chest.

Daria turned to look at her younger sister, a frown growing from ear to ear. "You're dressed a little too –"

"Don't even start, Daria. Mom said I look nice."

"Mom's just trying to get grandkids any way she can."

Quinn stomped her foot, 'I've never had sex if that's what you're implying, Daria!' Quinn snapped before properly thinking over what she had said. She flushed red, an angry colour against the dull purples and pinks of her outfit. "God, Daria."

"Augh! Augh! Why!" Daria pulled the blanket over her head.

Jake practically fell down the stairs, landing rather awkwardly at the bottom. "What's going on! Who's forcing who into what! Girls, don't worry, I keep a bat around here somewhere!" He began searching uselessly, completely ignorant of the context in which 'sex' had been mentioned.

It was a horrible night for all concerned. With her mind sufficiently ruined, her ears tainted and her face a plum red, Daria retreated to her bedroom. That was not the conversation she needed to top off her night; she didn't need to be reminded her sister was already getting dates with multiple guys in one evening; she didn't need to be reminded of her last horrible break-up with Troy … She fell into her computer chair and set to work on her latest book; a novel. The subject was vague, but her fingers seemed to know what they were typing. Anything to distract her from the most awkward situation she'd ever been in.

The next morning was spent uselessly searching through papers and sites for job opportunities; Daria was uninterested in every job. She refused to work at fast-food restaurants, boutiques, hair salons, book stores, cafes … nearly every prospect was rejected upon reading the title.

"Daria, I was thinking –"

'I already don't want to talk about it.'

"Daria," Helen softly scolded, her hands settled neatly on the breakfast table; Helen had taken the morning off with Daria to help her out of her career rut. She understood being in a new town was harder for Daria than Quinn, and felt partially responsible. It was her career that had forced them to move in the first place, though she would never admit it.

"Alright, I'm listening …" Daria yawned; Jake was at work, Quinn was not in the house, it was all an improvement in Daria's eyes.

"What if you were to get a job as a student teacher? You have enough credentials to begin the teaching course at the community college, and you could work at Lawndale High!" Helen announced happily, sipping her coffee.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over your insane assumption I would want to teach."

"Well, you _did_ take the course; and from the sounds of it, Lawndale High could really use someone as intelligent and insightful as yourself to put kids in their place _and_ teach them at the same time," Helen said reasonably, sipping once more at the froth of her coffee.

Daria pulled an annoyed, uneasy expression, her eyes narrowed at the table. She mumbled a few unintelligible things before standing up. "I'll go down to the school and ask tomorrow."

"No need, I already sent both the college _and_ the school a glowing letter of recommendation; you're all set."

"…You really have nothing else to do, do you?" Daria asked, sitting back down with her head in her hands. She was confused; extremely confused. How had her mother become so back-handed, conniving and smart? Upon closer thought, Daria realised she did get these traits from somewhere in her bloodline; it was moments like this she knew Amy couldn't possibly be her mother.

With this pathetic, scary and crushing reality in mind, Daria set off upstairs to have a shower. If she was expected to go anywhere or do anything, it would probably require looking partially human. As she stripped off her baggy jumper and loose pants, she couldn't help by smile; she somehow forgot the figure that lay under the oversized clothes she loved.

It was a stupid pleasure, but it was nice to be a brain respected for just that; her brain. She didn't need tight leather, high heels or fluffy hairstyles … she was herself, and if that wasn't enough, it wasn't worth her time. With that thought, Daria fiddled with the taps to get the water started.

"I'll probably need to shower daily once I'm a teacher; the sensation of becoming the Man would be enough to make anyone gag." (1)

"Ms. Morgendorffer, as you can see, our Lawndale High students take great pride in their school. That's why they'll each take a small psychological exam to spot any little clouds on the horizon as they sail the student seas of Lawndale High," Ms. Li continued, rather content with clearly reusing the same speech she used for welcoming students.

"Learning ahoy," Daria mumbled under her breath, her attention shifting from lockers to more lockers. It was like her old high school, but clean, safe and didn't smell like cheese nachos.

"Now before we place you into a particular class, we'll just have you go from lesson to lesson. In this room here you'll find Mr. DeMartino: he teaches history, although he's better known around Lawndale for – well, other pursuits." As she finished, Ms. Li gently pushed Daria into the classroom. She was met with glassy stares, as well as a few intrigued looks from the boys in the room.

The man at the front of the class in a cheap suit-shirt combo turned his menacing attention to Daria; he had clearly just finished intimidating the girl in the far right corner who was shivering in her seat. "Class, we have a new student-teacher joining us today. Please welcome Daria Morgendorffer. Daria, raise your hand, please."

Daria frowned, complying very reluctantly. Perhaps she was supposed to recite the pledge of allegiance or something else – maybe a cult ritual to brighten her day.

"Well, Daria! As long as you have your hand raised ..." he chuckled, his eyes travelling from the class to Daria once more, "last week we began a unit on westward expansion. Perhaps you feel it's unfair to be asked a question on your first day of class."

"Excuse me?" Daria soundly mildly baffled; she was a student teacher, not a student. Whatever this man was smoking she either wanted in, or wanted out of the classroom.

'Daria, can you concisely and unemotionally sum up for us the doctrine of Mainfest Destiny?'

_In my sleep,_ Daria thought. "Manifest Destiny was a slogan popular in the 1840s. It was used by people who claimed it was God's will for the U.S. to expand all the way to the Pacific Ocean. These people did not include many Mexicans."

"Very good, Daria. Almost ... suspiciously good." He seemed to forget he was speaking to a woman of 22 rather than a teen of 16; a woman who had finished college already despite being younger than the usual age. What did he expect? "All right, class. Who can tell me which war Manifest Destiny was used to justify?" He paused. "Kevin! How about you?"

"The Vietnam War?" the black-haired boy answered happily, as if his tone would help his cause. Daria tuned out the idiocy. She noticed, however, the barely familiar figure of Jane sitting in a lame little school desk; she looked out of place framed so restrictively behind the wooden piece of furniture.

Daria noticed that Jane was looking at her as well. She did not know that Jane was thinking that the way Daria kept popping up was odd, but somehow pleasing. Jane found Daria's presence weird, but soothing, almost as if she were an incarnation of somebody Jane had known in a past life. That was the kind of thing Jane's mother liked to go on about. Maybe Jane was becoming as crazy as the rest of the Lane family.

Unaware of Jane's thoughts, Daria shared an awkward, tentative smile with her. They'd have to talk about how they were going to handle this, Daria was sure. But teachers, even student-teachers, shouldn't get too close to their students, so any friendship between them would have to be kept casual.

Jane's unconventional and laid-back older brother was another, much more intriguing story, even with his reek of tobacco; thankfully he wasn't a student here, or else Daria was going to have a minor aneurism.

"Either someone gives me the answer, or I give you all double homework and a quiz tomorrow. I want a volunteer with the answer. Now!"

Maybe she could establish herself as the teacher that saved them all from double homework ... After all, he had asked her a question before. She raised her hand hesitantly.

"Daria, stop showing **off**!"

"Damn it."

**1. Somewhere, down the road from this occurrence, Trent Lane suffered a mild spine-shiver. His band members were concerned.**

"What is it, Trent?"

"Some hot chick just became "the Man"."

"Hot,' Max laughed, only to receive stares. 'What?"


	5. The Understatement

Something struck Daria as – incomplete. She spent her first day at the school wandering from classroom to classroom, her mind barely focused on the job at hand. The teachers were horrible; worse than her previous teachers. They knew little to nothing and that really worried her… But, she didn't want to rock the boat so early in her 'career', so she just grinned (well, metaphorically) and bared it. The day was drawing to a slow end, with her last experience focused in the 'Esteemers' class.

"Really?" she inquired as her mind wandered. She was trapped in a dull classroom with O'Neil, a teacher she already hated. He was the touchy-feely type who thought he could change the world. The only thing he could change was Daria's 'no killing' policy.

Slowly the dejected, the weak and the boring filed into class. It was clear that, in whatever weird world she was in now, they were _her._ The nerds, the geeks, the brains and the ones who just didn't fit in; then she saw Jane. As the wiry teen slumped into her seat, Daria frowned.

"Well class, we have a _special_ guest today," O'Neill chuckled in a way that would strip paint off walls. He looked expectantly at Daria, who was busy playing with a pencil. She looked up, smiling vaguely at the class.

"Uh. Hi. I'm Daria – Ms. Morgendorffer," she corrected, looking over to O'Neill, as if begging to be left alone. He just stood, smiling like an idiot. Did he expect her to say something inspiring? 'Be yourself?' she threw out hesitantly, her monotone almost broken in that moment.

"Good Daria," O'Neil grinned. He assumed power from there, guiding the misguided teens along some stupid program for relieving their stress-free lives of stress. Apparently being given free education, clothes, food and water meant nothing to them; _ungrateful kids_, she thought to herself. This was mostly the poorness speaking, of course.

After an agonising hour, Daria was allowed to leave (along with the teens who were probably no better off). Daria was surprised and confused to find herself feeling pity for them. She had a feeling that, had she been in high school at this school, it was a class she would have been forced into.

"Ms Morgendorffer!"

Daria turned, noticing Jane standing a few feet away with a smirk.

"I wondered when you'd notice."

"Just call me Daria," the older woman explained with a mild flush to her cheeks. She was a little embarrassed to be a teacher, let alone called _that_. She wasn't 50. "Uhm. What?"

"Just thought I'd say hi. You're everywhere, aren't you?" Jane crossed her arms, a smile on her face. Daria nodded before thinking, her eyebrow darting up the slightest.

"I guess. I'm surprised you're paying any attention – I tend to be able to avoid people," she answered cautiously, her arms hanging by her sides. There was a book clutched forgotten in her hand, along with a set of car keys.

"Though, you being a teacher here – I'll have to tell Trent," she added as an afterthought, as if analysing Daria. The two shared a moment of silence before Jane spoke again. "You live down the road from me, right?"

"Want a lift?"

"Sure," Jane said with a smile, nodding rather contentedly with the idea.

'How am I supposed to follow him if I don't know what he's talking about?' Daria questioned under her breath, her hand on her temple for a moment.

"I can fill you in later. I've taken this course six times."

The two exited the school together as if they were, oddly, friends; they'd only met a couple of times, yet there was ... something. It was a mutual assurance that they were friends in some other life, somewhere, but neither felt the need to voice this. As they drove, Daria questioned Jane on the class.

There were discussions of awkward topics such as nocturnal emissions and the female body image crisis, topics that were probably important – but O'Neil handling them? It creeped Daria out more than anything she'd ever heard of before.

"I don't get it, Jane," Daria finally admitted as they approached Jane's house. "You've got the entire course memorized. How come you can't pass the test to get out?" The car stopped at the curb, with Daria's usual emotionless expression etched with concern. Were there issues at home? Maybe she didn't want to go home … Daria thought better of the conversation, wondering if Jane was secretly a complete sob story. She didn't need to be emotionally involved. The answer, however, was refreshing.

"I could pass the test, but I like having low self-esteem," Jane explained as she climbed out of the car. She ducked back down for a moment, poking her head into the car. "It makes me feel special." With that, she rounded on her house, slouching her way up to the unkempt shack. Daria watched for a moment; no, Jane wasn't going to start crying all over the place; a nicer trait than a typically emotionally unnerved teenager.

"She _cannot _be a teacher at _my _high school!"

"Oh, I was at a high school today? I thought I was at –"

"Daria! Quinn!"

Helen was standing in the kitchen, her hands braced on the kitchen table. "Quinn, your sister needed a job and the school was the only place that would have – I mean, the only place she would want to work." She paused, her eyes flicking to Daria. "You need to respect your sister's feelings, Daria. Do _not_ try to make money by telling her classmates embarrassing stories about her for the sake of humiliating her."

The two girls growled, Daria seeming a little more subdued than her sister. There were a few more seconds of emotional protests before Quinn rushed upstairs protesting that no-one understood her. Daria tried the same move, but with less hair swishing and less pouting, so her attempt was unsuccessful.

"Daria." Helen sighed.

"I'm an adult," Daria said defensively, feeling that excused her from getting scolded.

There was a very short, sharp conversation about the responsibilities of an older sister (which did _not _include being cruel to her younger sister) and how Daria should be nicer and … it all sort of merged into a dull whine in the younger woman's ears. She had heard it all before; it was a little annoying to be treated as a child for the majority of the day … Especially by teachers who would get _her_ to answer questions. Rather than sit in the kitchen any longer with her mother and father, Daria skulked upstairs to her room, lying on her bed with her hands crossed over her chest.

Then a horn outside sounded.

Quinn could be heard yelling, her dad called out, Helen was confused; it was all very awkward for Daria, seeing as she took no part in her sister's relationships. It wasn't till her mother appeared in her doorway a minute later that Daria found out the car wasn't for Quinn.

"Some scruffy man is at the door; something about a _gig_. Oh it's been years since I've said that. Back at the commune –"

Daria climbed out of bed, her eyes unfocused. "Scruffy – uh. Oh. Tell him I'll be down in a minute." She shuffled over to her small vanity mirror, examining herself. Oh, with the dark circles under her eyes, the bored expression and the fly away hairs … she was certainly a sight to see. She briefly tried to fix herself up, more out of conventional necessity than desire to impress him. Well. Maybe she did want to impress him, a little.

A few minutes later, Daria was walking down the stairs to see Trent smoking just outside the doorway. She crossed her arms, idly rubbing them. "Trent?" she hazarded; the name was so new to her, yet her mouth easily formed it. Like he was an old acquaintance, someone she had known for years.

"Oh, hey, Daria" – he sounded almost surprised to see her – "I was just heading to the Zon – you mentioned you wanted to come?" he added with a half-hearted smile.

"Right. Yeah." Daria looked down at herself; she was dressed in a knee-length pencil skirt and a dull turquoise turtleneck. Not really the sort of outfit she'd wear out, but from the look of Trent, her outfit wasn't a concern. 'Now?'

"Yeah," Trent half-laughed, half-coughed.

"… Right now?" Daria flushed a shade of red; she really didn't feel ready.

"If you don't want to come," he began before Daria shook her head – perhaps a little too quickly.

"I'll be a minute, alright?" she finally conceded. She wanted to look a little dressed up; there were bound to be people her age at this event and she needed to make some kind of impression; a sentiment that, in her younger years, she would have vilified as 'conforming'. Realistically after a few job interviews and formal events, she realised the pathetic importance people placed on appearances.

After a very short while, Daria was walking out of her house in a pair of dark pumps (which made her average height, seeing as she was a mere 5' 3" without them) and a rather understated outfit with equally understated makeup. It showed off her matured figure, but kept the same air of "mystery" everyone seemed to think she possessed. Some small part of her noticed Trent smile a little as she came outside, but he proceeded to cough, ruining her mentality and notions of self-esteem for the evening.

Of course, her expectations were so low that the night _could_ actually turn out to be fun. She had changed far too much from the cold, cynical teen she had once been; too bad it had to come from a bad break-up with Tom – wait, Troy. _Troy was his name, _Daria needlessly reminded herself as she climbed into the back of a tacky, broken-down van.

"Guys, this is Daria."

**A/N: Reviews are amazing, please tell me what you think!**


	6. Lessons Learned

In her high school years, Daria had never bothered to attend a gig, or even a shindig. Occasionally she was roped into birthday parties (which sucked) and that was about it. All her life she had dedicated herself to not fitting in. That was what she liked people to believe, anyway … So the fact she was walking toward an old van with some slacker who happened to be really, really cute? Unbelievable. Some would even go as far as to say actually impossible. But Daria was (apparently) a go-getter now, thanks to the slack community of Lawndale, where breathing quietly was a talent.

Daria was (as lame as the phrase sounded) a fish out of water at the moment. Not only was she out of water, she was on a grill, seasoned and ready to be eaten by wolves. That assessment was probably too many metaphors and not enough clarity if she thought about it. However, she blamed the fact Trent had a cute butt – wait, since when were butts cute to her! _Freakin' Quinn …_

"You have to ride in the back… Sorry," Trent haphazardly tacked on the apology, smacking the door in several places before it would slide open.

"At least I know it won't open easily. Like, when we're driving," Daria attempted with failed positivity.

"It does do that sometimes, but it's cool." Trent chuckled.

"Wait, what?"

Trent was already climbing into the passenger seat by the time Daria caught up with him. His arm extended lazily out of the window, flicking the butt of his cigarette off into the gutter. Daria contemplated pushing the topic of broken doors further, but decided against it. She just slipped quietly into the van and slid (well, _dragged)_ the door shut behind her.

Unimpressed thus far, she looked from Nick to Jesse. If it weren't for the fact they were supposed to share a car trip together, she would have instantly avoided the pair. As the van took off, she could actually feel how out of place she was. What made it worse was that she _knew _they felt it too, something they did nothing to compensate for. Daria settled clumsily onto an amp. They all gave her a welcoming smile and 'hello' that didn't feel genuine at all. It only made her feel more self-consciously sure that they thought she was fooling around with Trent. Of course, this was her own slightly self-conscious spin to the introductions. It just seemed odd for them to be so genuinely nice to someone they had only just met.

"So. You new here?" Jesse asked, barely able to get the words out of his mouth due to tiredness.

_Yes, this is the first time I've been in the back of this van thank you very much, _Daria defensively retorted in her mind. It took all her reserve to stifle this comment as she chewed her bottom lip. "Mhm," She grunted in acknowledgement, looking down at the floor of the van. Max was driving, Trent was in the passenger seat, which left Nick, Jesse and herself holding down amps and grabbing guitars that slid by.

"Where were you before the move then?" Nick asked kindly, his eyes happily settled on her face.

"Texas."

"Was it nice?"

"No."

"Miss it?"

"No."

"You don't really talk very much, do you?"

"Not really." The corner of her mouth tilted upward, softening the impact of the statement.

The conversation continued in a monosyllabic fashion as they rounded a sharp corner. The abrupt change of direction sent Daria and the musical equipment skidding across from one side of the van to the other. Eventually (and thankfully) the van chugged to a seemingly accidental halt. Daria was the first out, trying not to stumble too much as she hit concrete with her heel. She made sure to step aside for Jesse and Nick. They followed suit with ease; obviously they had plenty of practise getting out of the back of the van (and they had the advantage of sneakers). Next out of the van were the beaten-up instruments and amps that were lying helplessly across the floor.

"We need to go set up – remember to tell them you're here to see us," Trent reminded her.

"What was the name again?"

"Mystik Spiral-"

"I was kidding," Daria pointed out. Trent chuckled, his laughter crackling out to a sad cough. He lit up another cigarette and slung his guitar over his shoulder. With a lazy tilt of his head, he instructed the band to follow. The band disappeared around back, leaving Daria outside with nothing more than a name and the assurance that, should she actually mention the band to the bouncer, she'd get a free beer. As if the offer was _so_ tempting in the first place.

The line was surprisingly long, and the bouncers seemed unsurprisingly uninterested. They only carded half of the people walking inside, and barely talked to anyone. As Daria approached, the bouncer raised a hand in order to check her I.D. Hers was the only one they actually _bothered_ to question. The bald, dark-skinned man showed it around briefly before handing it back. Her I.D. was probably the only legitimate one in the line, yet due to her height, they made her feel like some kid in trouble. '_Oh, the nerve of today's youth_!' she jokingly scolded in her mind. Daria angrily shuffled to the woman sitting in a carved hole in the wall. She seemed even less interested, a stamp poised in her clammy fist.

"Mystik Spiral," Daria bluntly explained as she handed over her entry fee. Before she could say anything, a stamp was smacked against her wrist and she was bustled inside. The red ink instantly seeped everywhere, hardly helping to identify _anything_. It looked like a tomato had made out with her wrist (and managed to make a 'Zon'-ish shape).

The surrounding patrons seemed to shuffle away from the green-tinged apparel – color was clearly _not_ in with these people, as Quinn would put it. Daria could do nothing but sullenly hope that they would be distracted by something other than the green dress she was wearing – maybe pay attention to the band currently screeching on stage. That was a big maybe, of course. Her eyes narrowed habitually at the racket.

"You must be Daria."

As if accenting the statement, a hand reached across the room to her before she could react – something was definitely wrong with her reaction time tonight – and she was tugged aside. A woman clad in black leather and way too much hairspray smiled like a cat at her. Her hand remained latched to Daria's forearm, smearing the already illegible red mark.

"How do you know who I am?" Daria asked with a concerned step back, snatching her arm away from the foreign woman.

"Trent sent me around to look for you,' the woman explained, "I'm Monique. Trent's _girlfriend_. He mentioned me, right?"

Daria betrayed herself with several aggressive blinks. "Oh! He didn't mention you."

"Of course he wouldn't. He doesn't even know what day it is, let alone… never mind, totally not your fault," Monique musically chuckled, her hands settled neatly on her belted hips. There was some cool air of niceness that Daria instantly resented. For a moment she could have sworn that Trent was single. Not that it mattered. Not that she even _cared_.

"And … how did you know _I _was Daria? There's at least fifty people here," Daria announced after skimming the room. Maybe it wasn't as busy as she first thought. It was probably just a gross overstatement due to the sheer number of black-clad adults mulling around the door. More _were_ seeping in, though.

"Trent told me about you just then. They're still backstage, and I was kicked out 'cause I'm not performing tonight so…"

"What did he say?" Daria asked before she even knew she was talking, "Glasses, nerdy and not wearing black?" she covered with a joke, her eyes darting about Monique's face. The woman seemed unperturbed by the question, a warm smile still relaxing across her face.

"He didn't say you were nerdy. But … yeah, the glasses and the not-black thing," she agreed with another one of her characteristic chuckles. The conversation trailed off there, the two women having no common connection beyond Trent (and maybe some bruises earned in the back of the van). As the current nameless "band" skidded to a halt and announced that Mystik Spiral was coming up next, Daria snapped a little taller. Her neck arched in efforts to see the stage, an sudden excitement building in her. Monique seemed unhappy with this. With unknown confidence, she slipped her hand around Daria's, "C'mon, let's get you that free beer!" she softly suggested, as if it was some schoolgirl secret. Daria half-expected to be asked which boy she thought was cutest in their class next.

As she was dragged by Monique, Daria could do nothing but stare at the hand now holding her own. It was fair to say she was a little confused by the gesture. That was, until Monique had successfully dragged her across the room. Despite her frail appearance, the other woman was **extremely** strong. Daria wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. She _did_ know that she now had a drink in either hand, matching Monique's own tri-factor of vodka, gin and beer.

"You are _so _going to need these to get through Mystik Spiral…" Monique said in self-justification as they settled into a booth near the wall. They were nowhere near the speakers and the stage was almost invisible to Daria. It was an odd position to be in if they were supposed to see Trent perform, but Daria didn't question it, sipping shyly at her drink.

College had taught her two things; 1) don't down your whole drink in one go; 2) Daria, you're a goddamn light-weight so _don't down your whole drink in one go no matter what_. Those lessons, along with a lot of useless teaching methods and _something_ about English were all she retained. She'd gleaned only the occasional new idea from college, most of the lectures consisting of stuff she already knew.

The microphone crackled to life, a deep voice calling attention. Donned in (unsurprisingly) black, he was a wiry young man of only about 20. His presence was void of the usual bravado an announcer held, sounding like he was asking for a price check on meat. "Introducing Mystik Spiral."

"Drink up," Monique instructed, taking the vodka and gin as quickly as she could manage. Daria just finished her first beer, a hand hesitantly dancing around the vodka shot that was sitting ready for her. It wasn't until midway through the first song she had finished that shot, along with her second beer.

Daria now understood the free beer policy a lot better. She also understood those lessons she had learned in college a lot better – _don't down your drink in one, Daria_.

**A/N: Took me long enough, right? WELL sorry for the 'cliffhanger'. Also, reviews please!**


	7. You Took My Breath Away

**Chapter Seven: You Took My Breath Away**

Mystik Spiral boomed on for about half an hour, and it couldn't have been more clear why alcohol came as part of the entry fee. It not only drew in desperate teens, it also dulled the sound of off-key music and poor timing. With a fourth shot teetering in her fingertips, Daria decided she was permitted to have a smidge of fun. She'd been out of college for two months now, and all the partying she had hated now felt like a tragically missed memory. Of course, the time between graduating and now blurred her memories into a happy haze. She had hated it at the time. As she debated the drink in her fingertips, her dulled senses became more apparent. Daria hated to admit it, but her _slightly_ smaller stature allowed her a much faster path to blurry, drunken antics than others. That wasn't to say she was stumbling around a dingy grunge club after a free beer, but she definitely wasn't as clear-headed as she would've liked to be. And was it hot in here all of a sudden, or was that just her? It was probably just her…

"You're bright red, sweetheart," Monique tutted, pressing a cold hand against Daria's forehead for a second. "Maybe slow down. You're too small to match my drinking prowess." Monique proudly smiled. Daria wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing; she ignored it.

"I'm fine."

"I'm sure,' Monique laughed. "So where're you from?"

"Tex-sucks-ass." Daria smiled into her shot before downing it. She cringed, both at her lame joke and at the shot. "Sorry, I've just been so stressed with moving, and trying to find a job, and my _mom_ trying to get me to date some guy from her work who looks like an ad for Prozac."

Monique just laughed louder, her hands settled on the table. "You're chattier when you drink. I like it. So what are you into?" Monique asked, her question sounding incredibly profound and emphatic.

"I like books. Books are cool." Daria smiled, but quickly smothered that expression with her usual monotone voice and plain boredom. She chuckled to a joke that hadn't been told before peering up at Monique. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I figure I haven't got many friends since my girl Jill moved away. I need to start branching out, making contacts, all that jazz. Why are you so surprised?"

Daria blankly stared at Monique, as if the answer was obvious. Although she had grown since high school, and no longer held as many self-doubts as she used to, she could still find herself confused when girls were nice to her without seeming to want anything. Especially when the girl was a cool band chick, with tattoos, piercing, and a – Trent. Whatever that meant. It seemed a little unbelievable, and that's all that kept swirling around in Daria's mind.

That's when Daria spotted the band marching towards them with amused smiles. Trent seemed happier than the others, but Daria wasn't sure why. Maybe he was just happy to see Daria hadn't been trampled and that Monique was semi-plastered.

"Ladies." Trent grinned, sliding into the booth next to Monique. Daria turned away when they seemed determined to greet one another like they couldn't procure their own oxygen, more from embarrassment than to afford them privacy.

"Guys, c'mon, you're scaring the newbie." Max smirked. He was sitting next to Daria with his arm over the back of the seat, but Daria didn't think much of it. He wasn't even looking at her, and seemed to be eyeing off a girl standing a few dozen feet away amongst the swaying fishnet and chokers. She was thankful most deemed her unremarkable, mostly because it allowed her to blend in and avoid questioning looks.

Trent had a lazy smile that matched Monique's, and his arm wound around her shoulders. "Enjoy the show?" he asked Daria. He seemed to be trying to show some excitement in anticipation of her reaction, but he couldn't muster much. Daria wasn't sure whether she should pity him.

"It was – um – cool."

"Cool."

Daria wanted to slap the look of amusement off his face, but apparently Monique was determined to slap it off using her own face. Daria awkwardly shuffled herself around so she didn't have to stare directly into the abyss that was Trent and Monique attempting to make as much noise as possible. She felt a tug at her elbow from Max, who seemed just as unamused.

"I say we find a booth of our own," he suggested, "with Jesse and Nick, obviously. Don't look so freaked!" He laughed, letting Daria go. She had paled quite noticeably at the implication that Max had accidentally pushed onto her. She stared awkwardly down at her hands and nodded, stumbling after the other three guys.

Daria definitely did not throw a sad look over her shoulder at Trent and Monique. And she definitely wasn't frowning because Monique's hand had disappeared somewhere under the table and – _oh dear god, look away Daria, look away._

"Are they always that bad?" Daria finally asked from their new vantage point across the club. She held a glass of water hopefully between her hands, swirling it as she tried to sober herself using only her mind-power.

"Only for the first day or two, then they fight, and then they break up." Jesse yawned, slumped into the booth seat with a tired expression on his face. 'Then they make up, Trent waxes poetical about her, they have sex all over the place, and do it all over again."

Daria cringed openly when Jesse just let the word 'sex' roll from his mouth as if it wasn't anything special. She wished she wasn't so squicked by people talking about sex, but it just wasn't a topic she ever broached with friends, let alone drunk guys in a band she'd only just met. Her eyes glanced over to Trent and Monique again to see her slap him and storm off.

"And so it begins," Nick sagely announced.

"Now he's gonna come over and complain. You might want to tune out, it gets pretty stupid."

"Remember the time he spent an hour coming up with reasons he thought she was a succubus?"

"Totally doesn't compare to the time he thought she was a witch. That was just freakin' hilarious man." Max laughed, sipping on his beer as the group pretended not to notice Trent sullenly walking over with a hand on his cheek and a beer in his other hand.

"What'd you do this time?" Nick asked in a sing-song voice, slinging an arm around Trent as the other man sat down next to him. Trent spared no time shrugging Nick off, pouting off into the distance like a scolded child.

"Nothing."

…

The next morning was hell. Daria was fairly sure it was actual hell too, not the metaphorical kind. All Daria could recall from the previous night was the awful sight of Monique and Trent, paired up with the last shot of vodka that should never have been taken. She massaged her temples and vowed that peer pressure only got worse with age, because you assume you're old enough to handle yourself. She patted around for her glasses and was relieved to see herself in her bedroom, wearing her oversized grey shirt and a pair of woolly white socks.

It seemed she'd had enough of a mind to prepare for bed, so the night was lost to her because of her sleepiness and not because of some sudden alcoholism problem she developed to try and impress a boy.

"I regret everything," Daria mumbled as she stepped out of bed, and onto someone's chest. The only reason she knew it was someone's chest was because they made a loud, pained sound and tried to roll away.

"Trent!" Daria shouted, covering her mouth when she saw it was mid-day, and that she had slept in, and that some guy was on her floor with a couch cushion under his head. He had rolled over, waving her away as he tried to cover his head with the knitted blanket Daria usually kept in her closet. "Trent, what are you doing here?" Daria hissed, jabbing him angrily with her toe.

"I was sleeping," Trent mumbled.

Daria's expression soured momentarily before pulling her covers around herself. She climbed out of bed and walked over to her door to close it. It was left a crack open. With her cover-cocoon still intact, she turned back to glare at the hungover guitarist as best she could. "Trent."

"Daria."

"Why are you sleeping on my floor?"

"We drove to my house and my door was locked, so you said I could crash. Your floor is weirdly comfortable," Trent explained, sitting up reluctantly as he scrubbed his eyes with a palm.

"What..." Daria trailed off, stumbling to her closet to try and find clothes (whilst remaining in her very convenient cocoon). 'Why couldn't you stay at Max or Jesse's?'

"You were pretty insistent."

Daria was a bright shade of red as she threw her covers over Trent, disappearing into her tiny closet to try and change in the privacy it barely offered. She managed to get a skirt and shirt on before nudging the door open, her hair messily pulled back. Her eyes were narrowed at the slumped Trent, still covered by the blanket.

"I don't even remember last night. I blame you entirely."

"You're the one who offered to buy the eighth round."

"Oh. Good. Good. I'm a generous drunk idiot, and now the check I sent my college to pay off student loans is going to bounce. Being a hermit won't be so bad." Daria sighed, wriggling her feet into her oversized boots, and examined her wrist for a moment. The red smear had bled across most of her forearm.

"I paid for the pancakes from McDonalds, don't act like you didn't get something back."

'We ate pancakes?'

Trent smirked a little up at her before slackening his expression. "Do you remember anything?"

"Obviously not."

"Huh."

"What?"

Trent shook his head, pulling his shirt back on. Daria became painfully aware how toned a skinny guy like Trent managed to be. Her mouth felt a little drier because of it – but she focused her energy on tying her shoelaces. Whatever else had happened, she didn't need to know about it ever. "It sounded like fun."

"Totally was." Trent laughed, "thanks."

"It's fine, whatever I did."

"I knew you'd be cool when you loosened up."

Daria glared at him, her lips pouted out accidentally as she stood up from the edge of her bed. 'I'm sorry I'm not cool normally. I'm just myself …" Daria added as an annoyed footnote. She was used to being uncool, but it never bothered her. Especially not when some layabout told her she was only cool some of the time.

"I already like you," Trent laughed, dragging Daria into a hug she only half-pretended she wanted no part in. He smelled familiar, which was weird. She blamed the night out at the Zon, and the whiskey that seemed soaked into his shirt. She pulled back first, fixing her insanely messy hair the best she could. It wasn't as weird as she thought it would be – Trent actually seemed nice, even after getting to see how uptight and nervous Daria got when they were alone together.

Then again, she did crush his lungs with her foot by mistake. He was probably just delirious from a lack of oxygen.

**A/N: Well this was a surprise. I've been toying with where to take this for ages, I hope you liked it. Hopefully Daria seems in-character, despite being a little older, and a little more confident.**


	8. Still Straight Shooting

**Chapter Eight: Still Straight-Shooting**

"I just think we need to discuss the details of – well – _remaining safe_."

Daria felt her face grow numb as she watched Helen pace from one side of the kitchen to the other. Her head tilted slightly to one side, then the other, before she finally spoke. "Given my flawless track record of no children compared to _your_ two-for-two, should I be giving you the talk about remaining safe?" Daria inquired with a simple, unreadable expression. It was a very fair call, and, given that they had Daria several years younger than they'd first intended, it really _was _a good question. At least it was in Daria's eyes.

Helen had turned a shade of red Daria instantly regretted, followed by a slew of apologies rambled out under her breath. "I'm glad you think it's hilarious, but I'm honestly concerned. I know I always stress to you that a partner is something worth considering at your age, I don't want you to just start dating unwashed band felons."

Daria's lips pursed together as she tried to mull over her options; to speak or not to speak – it wasn't even a question. She remained silent, flicking through the morning newspaper as Helen continued on her maternal rampage about playing it safe, and dating a boy who had obvious prospects. Hilariously, she then corrected herself and assured Daria a girl was just as valid.

"Still not gay, mom."

"You never know."

Daria's eyes rolled a few too many times during the _next _ramble her mother spat out. Thankfully she had learned to ignore all the motherly rants and instead focused on the newspaper. Jake slowly snuck into the kitchen, avoiding eye-contact with Daria as if she were the reincarnation of Medusa.

"Dad, can you pass the salt?"

"Daria! Didn't see you there kiddo! How was your night?" Jake passed the salt before quickly laughing at nothing in particular, "That's just swell to hear, well I gotta go, work, work, work, you know how I am!" With another misplaced laugh, Jake quickly rushed from the chair he'd only just sat down in, and abandoned the bacon and eggs he'd usually gobble up.

"Did he try to hang that clock again?" Daria asked curiously, eyes turned to Helen.

"No – he just doesn't know how to remain subtle about anything."

"You married him."

"And _you_ should be thankful I did – otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"So you're the one I should blame?" Daria asked with a gentle curve to the corner of her mouth. She collected her mug and greasy plate, thankful, for the first time in weeks, that it was a weekend. Usually she used working at school to get away from family, but she decided that avoiding any and all citizens of this weird, backwater town was the best idea for now. She explained to her mother she'd be upstairs working on her current novel – which meant _don't come talk to me, but bring me food_ – before dodging a teary-eyed Quinn.

"Moooo-oom, I have something super-important that I have to tell you," Quinn said in an important voice, her hands crossed. Daria's footsteps slowed just outside the kitchen.

Although she didn't admit it often, she cared. She cared enough to eavesdrop anyway.

"What is it, sweetie?" Helen asked in a worried, motherly way. Daria inched a little closer to the kitchen, half-lingering in sight. At the very least she needed names if she was going to take down the little idiots that'd upset her sister. If that's what was going on, anyway.

"I got told today I was just too beautiful, and it was, like, a tragedy that I wasn't a professional model. And it's just gotten to me, y'know? Why can't I be in magazines? Aren't I, like, the cutest daughter ever?"

"Where did this all come from?"

"Well at school there were some talent scouts …"

Daria regretted the scoff that she couldn't hold back, her eyes narrowing at her dim-witted younger sister. She didn't even need to linger to know that her mother was going to smack down her stupid, teenage whining over something as trivial as being a model. Who wanted to be propped up in a slinky piece of tacky fabric with a bunch of equally fake girls? It just sounded so vapid, and boring.

Perfect for Quinn, apparently.

With heavy, lumbering steps, Daria managed to get back to her room and see the travesty left behind. Well, perhaps travesty was a little much, but there were blankets everywhere, and a lone couch cushion covered in (what she sincerely hoped was) drool. There was a small, black snap of fabric on the floor next to it which she could only assume was Trent's "signature" wristband. _How the Hell had he forgotten that,_ she wondered.

But there were better things to wonder. Like, why had he stayed over? Why had he lingered? Why had he taken his sweet time in leaving, especially when Daria was frazzled and caked in last-night's eyeliner. She frowned inwardly as she picked at the blanket and set it back on her bed, her hands lingering at the cushion before picking the wristband up first. She fiddled with it in her fingers for a moment before experimentally placing it around her wrist. For the sake of keeping it close (so she could return it to Trent, obviously), she snapped the little clips together and set to work cleaning her room.

Although her neatness wasn't renowned, she did hate having drooled-on cushions all over her floor. It didn't take long to right the wrongs that'd been set upon her room before she finally sat herself down in front of her very tacky, old laptop. It was a gift for college, and made her cringe whenever it bleeped to life. She really needed a new one, eventually.

But for now she had to write at least a few pages, so she didn't feel as unproductive as she actually was.

It wasn't till Sunday night that Daria paid second thoughts to the events at the Zon. Having donned fluffy grey slippers and plain pyjamas, she was watching a movie downstairs with her family (Helen was on her phone, Jake was cuddled under a pillow in fear of the monster in the movie, and Quinn was on the house phone in the kitchen). As if timed by the comical gods, the doorbell rang and Jake screamed like a small child. Daria stared pointedly around as if defying the role of door-answerer, yet there was no chance _anyone _else would answer it. She sincerely hoped it was a salesperson so she could tell them where to shove it without feeling bad.

But it wasn't; it was Monique.

"Hey girl, I didn't have your number but I totally had to invite you to my – uh – are you okay?"

Given how Daria was dressed (and the way she had jumped to conceal her wristband), it was a fair question on Monique's part. "I'm fine – how did you know I lived here?"

"Trent told me."

"I still have no idea how _he _knew where I lived …"

"It's a small town, and this house is pretty infamous for that whole schizophrenic woman who killed her family."

Daria paled a little under the makeup-smothered gaze, "You were saying something about an invitation?"

"Oh, right, totally slipped my mind. Well, I'm playing a gig at the Zon Tuesday night, so I wanted to get in early and make sure I got you before your calendar filled up."

Daria wasn't sure how to interpret the strange little wink Monique seemed to make her signature to end each sentence, but she didn't question it. "I'm flattered, but I work from eight in the morning till about five – I'll see."

"Awesome! I'll see you there! Make sure you mention the Holy Harpies at the door for –"

"Free beer, I get it." Daria gave a very weary, slow smile before saying goodbye and closing the door. People in Lawndale were _extremely_ weird, and apparently invasive. She would have to make sure she got phone numbers next time she saw people, so they stopped turning up at random and admiring her in her lazy, house-worn glory.

Especially when she was wearing a pair of fuzzy grey slippers.

"Aw kiddo, you got a girlfriend? Good for you! I'm pretty sure your mother and I will love her, if you invite her over for di -"

"_Still_ not gay, dad," Daria snapped before setting the movie to play once more. The reels in the VCR started clicking away, signalling the monster's return to motion. Helen and Quinn were both curiously inspecting the situation from the kitchen, but quickly returned to their phone calls when Daria looked their way. It annoyed her beyond words that her family was so avidly interested to know who she was friends with, and worse, who she was dating.

It was the Troy travesty all over again, and it just drove her mad. Once the movie slowed to a stop, she paid a moment's attention to the credits before going upstairs. Her attention faded with every step, a yawn perched on her lips. All she wanted was a nice sleep, especially given her morning was going to consist of annoying students, horrible teachers, and talent scouts she had yet to crash heads with.


	9. Unbearable

"We are looking for star quality! Those who strive to look perfect, act perfect and_ be_ perfect."

Daria gagged at the pathetic speech. She was sitting in the back of the morning's history class, with two dolled up relics spouting nonsense about perfection. The kids were transfixed by them for obvious reasons; all the girls thought they could be the next big thing in the modelling industry, while the boys were excited to be in cahoots with future models.

"That's just great. Ruin their futures for them. Can't even let them do that on their own," DeMartino snapped, his eyes bulging in their uniquely creepy way. He kept comments like that quiet enough for the scouts to miss, but Daria heard every word.

"Auditions will be Tuesday evening, after school! Oh, isn't this exciting! Model alumni!" Ms. Li chortled from the doorway, examining all the students to see who would be most likely to join the try-outs. Her eyes fell on Daria, as if encouraging her to join in the rally around modelling. When she realized the spiel was done, she ushered the plastic dolls out of the room, smiling in Daria's direction.

Daria winced as they exited the room. Something about all this unsettled. She needed to make sure that she avoided being placed in charge of the chaperoning, or else she'd miss Monique's performance. Or maybe that was a good thing? Daria hardly knew which was more tempting to avoid. She didn't even know why she was trying to avoid Monique's band performing.

Part of her wanted to blame women's intuition, but that was a myth like mermaids or smart jocks.

Monday didn't last long enough, a fact that was made all the clearer when Daria found herself bundled up at the back of the school's auditorium with coffee and a book. Lying Li suggested for "extra practice" being a teacher, she should attend. It meant she wasn't getting paid, and also meant she might miss Monique's band. Again, Daria was still tossing up the pros and cons of this. Helen had been the deciding factor of course; she didn't want Quinn being taken advantage of, and Daria begrudgingly agreed. She disliked Quinn sometimes, but she disliked the talent scouts more than her petty sibling rivalry.

"You must believe you are the graceful lion," the man shouted, adjusting Quinn's hips into a more alluring position.

"I am believing!" Quinn squawked back, a pout and teary expression building. She was very clearly trying her best, and these idiots were - ugh.

Daria snapped her book shut. She was actually fighting the urge to go down there and show him how she would interpret a lion, with his part of the prey being well deserved. She wasn't often protective, but she could see that the kids were trying too hard to enact adult allure. It was getting creepy.

"This has to be illegal." A comment that echoed her own came from behind Daria. It was clearly Jane, her voice clearer than usual. She sat down next to Daria, examining the showboating down on the stage. "Isn't that your sister?"

"Um, yeah," Daria turned her attention to Jane, "why are you here? You aren't thinking of joining in, are you?"

Jane fake-scoffed, "Are you saying I lack the 'pizazz' to be a model?"

"It's not what you lack, it's what you don't lack," Daria corrected, "you have more commonsense than any of them. Especially Kevin," Daria rolled her eyes as she watched Kevin growling at Stacey. She looked legitimately afraid.

"He can't help being a defenseless moron. And why are you here?"

"Minding the kids."

Jane nodded, twiddling her feet and staring down at the desperate clawing. They'd changed animals to kittens, or puppies, or something equally adorable. "Are you going to Monique's performance tonight?"

"If this finishes before I end up taking out Pierre, or Cruella DeVille"

Jane shrugged, "Only asked 'cause Trent is driving me and Nick there after he picks me up from here. He told me to ask you," Jane added for no real reason - not that Daria could deduce anyway. They remained sitting in silence until a third figure plodded in some time later.

"Hey," Trent peered down at the stage, "uh, do I want to ask?"

Daria and Jane both shook their heads. As Daria was about to tell Jane she didn't need a ride (she had to wait for Quinn), the boys on stage started stripping their shirts off.

"Look amorous!"

"Caress their nimble teenage bodies with eager, adventurous hands!"

And then Ms. Li walked in - which was convenient. The small sliver of protective older sister kicked in, and like she was going to sit around and watch her sister being forced into frolicking on stage with a shirtless idiot. She gnawed her lip - this was probably the perfect example of how easily teenagers could be exploited into stupid, inane situations against their will. She tried to hold back her annoyance when Quinn ran up to the back of the auditorium, insisting that Daria drive her home. She didn't even acknowledge Jane, Trent, or the scouts currently chatting with Ms. Li about their vision, and their ideas. All Daria heard was creepy, nonchalant comments that Daria sincerely wished she could rebut.

Without thinking too much, she waved a hand at Jane and Trent. Whether she went or not was still debatable, so she didn't promise anything over her shoulder. She honestly just wanted to get home and talk to her mother. Maybe even try to find a way to show Ms. Li how stupid her "good intentions" had been.

The car trip home, and the subsequent explanation to their mother only worsened Daria's sourness to the situation. Were she younger, she might have laughed the experience off as some stupid, wacky situation her sister had made for herself, but her barely fourteen-year-old sister was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at her hands and emotionless. She wasn't even complaining about not getting the modelling contract, or that Sandi had been feeling up the boy she liked, or whatever else was usually a huge deal to her.

Daria stared at the fridge for a minute or so as Quinn explained the situation to their mother, who only replied with coos of praise and reassurance. "You should never do something you're uncomfortable with." Daria inwardly laughed at that; Helen was all about making Daria do things she hated - though this was different.

"I just feel stupid," Quinn mumbled, "all the other girls didn't care about touching boys. Am I weird, mom? I don't want to be weird!"

"You made the right choice, sweetie," Helen said, her arm around Quinn's shoulders.

Since arriving home, Daria had slowly calmed down about it all. She wanted to put some positive comments in about how she was proud of Quinn for refusing to sell her beliefs out, but it felt wrong. She wasn't the supportive sister, or even a supportive person. Sure, she agreed with Quinn, but it felt wrong to admit that out loud. She was proud though.

Helen and Quinn continued their conversation in privacy, something Daria felt they needed. Quinn and herself were kind enough to one another to know when and when not to mess with each other; again, something Daria only gained when she grew out of her teenage years. She could be a nasty older sister when it was funny, but the situation that night was anything but.

"I'm heading out," Daria decided t herself. Relaxation was the idea that evening. She had squirreled some money away, and wasn't the point of earning money to spend it on wasted resources like greasy food and alcohol?

It probably wasn't, but where was the fun in anything like new clothes or useful investments, anyway.

The bespectacled girl donned a nice, thick trench-coat and instantly shed it; last time she had stupidly overdressed and overheated. It was never a good feeling. She spent a few minutes trying to find something light, but not flimsy. It was then she realized that maybe buying clothes wasn't such a stupid idea; everything was frayed, or stretched.

A buzzing from her bag caught her attention. No one called her, ever. Unless they were her mother, but her mother was downstairs and - who had her number anyway? Daria pulled on her newest shirt and shuffled over to her bag. The name "Treeenthascuttebutt" appeared on her phone.

"No alcohol, ever again." Daria stared for a moment before answering, "Hello?"

"Hey Daria, it's Trent. You're coming, right? Monique's asking about you. She's playing soon."

Daria nodded a few times, still in a blind rage about her poor decisions. "I'm coming," Daria added when she remembered that people couldn't see her nodding; she wasn't used to phones. Her monotoned voice hardly lent itself well to phone conversations either.

"Okay, well just say you're with the Holy Harpies and -"

"Free drink, I know."

"Cool. Later Daria."

Daria switched the phone off, not sure she would accept the free drink. The fact she had to drive, plus her slew of poor decisions whilst under the influence only solidified her apprehension. She brushed her hair for a moment before peering into her tiny mirror - she looked acceptable. And that worked well enough for her.

"I'm going out!"

"I'll drive you!" Helen called back, snatching up her keys and briskly darting out the front door.

Daria squinted after her in suspicion. She hadn't asked for a lift, and usually her mom was too busy trying to chat up a client. She grabbed her handbag from the hat-rack near the door before approaching her mother's car, almost fearful of the woman behind the wheel.

"What's the occasion?" Daria asked carefully, sitting herself in the passenger seat with clear reluctance.

Helen smiled a little before patting Daria on the shoulder, "I wanted to talk to you about what you did today."

"Look, whatever the janitor said is a lie. There was a line for the women's toilets and -"

Helen shook her head. "You were just as angry about the talent scouts as I was. I could tell," Helen stared the car up. "When you got home with Quinn, I could just tell. It's sweet of you to care so much about your little sister. That was a terrible situation for her to be in, and I'm so glad you were able to be there for her."

Daria stared at her mother, baffled by the praise. It had irked her, yes, but it wasn't a fact she had made obvious.

As the drove, Helen spoke about how hard it was for girls nowadays to say no to the media, and how they'd bend to stupid notions of peer pressure. She drove the point home by clutching the wheel a little too tightly, and missing a stop sign or two.

"Mom, I think you're taking this to heart a little too much..."

Helen shook her head, pulling up to the grunge club with a smile on her face. She peered across to Daria before pulling her daughter into a hug, "I've been waiting years for you two to get along!"

Daria, perplexed by her mother's surge of maternity, clawed her way out of the car and spat a quick goodbye to her mother. She was thankful most patrons were already inside the club and hadn't just seen her being coddled and smothered by her mother. She would have refused to leave if that were the case.

"Holy Harpies," Daria said quickly as she arrived at the front door. The wrist stamp, drink coupon and pretzel were all the same as last time. The music, however, was radically different.

It was actually_ bearable_.

**A/N: Reviews, please!**


	10. Miss Popular

Daria was quick to learn how the Zon worked. People turned up to drink and socialize. The music was a useless background element, existing more for atmosphere than anything else. No 'talent scouts' ever turned up, and no one famous ever came to play. No one in the crowd even paid attention. Unless it was the Holy Harpies playing. This was the first time Daria saw people dancing and singing along to the lyrics; it was also the first time she had seen Trent looking upset and dejected.

"Stop looking so freaking sad," Nick complained, setting a beer in front of Trent. It was sitting alongside Trent's first beer, which was just as untouched.

"I'm not sad." Trent was frowning too much to be taken seriously.

"You broke up again, not our problem. Jodie and Claire and rocking it. Pay attention to them. You like drummer chicks, right?"

Trent pushed away the beer, his head switching from hand to hand as he stared at the stage. The other occupants of the booth groaned. Though Daria was only experiencing this for the first time, she was already sick of it.

"My teenage sister acts less moody than you when she breaks up with a guy."

Everyone except Trent laughed. Trent seemed to perk up a little in defiance.

"I'm not moody. I'm just reflecting on my lost muse."

They continued to laugh at Trent's expense, only stopping to sip at their beer.

"She has a point Trent." Jesse nodded in Daria's direction.

"Give it like, three days. You'll be banging Monique again and ranting about how amazing she is," Max shrugged, his hands locked behind his head. He was obviously watching the girls performing, unlike the others.

"I love how romantic you make it sound." Daria smiled before sipping (very slowly) at her drink. She did not need to wake up with a McDonalds pancake in her purse again.

Or a Trent on her floor.

As the Holy Harpies announced they were taking a break, the crowd slowly split off into teens trying to score alcohol, and other teens sneaking out to smoke. Monique practically bounced towards them, her hair not moving an inch.

"Daria! It's so awesome to see you!"

"Yeah, because we're totally not here." Nick laughed, ducking a little.

Monique had lunged across to hug Daria, who was entirely surprised by how eager the other girl was. "Hi Monique."

"Oh please, call me Mon," Monique insisted. She climbed across Nick to sit between himself and Daria, her smile widening. "How was it? We went with some classics so people could really join in the fun, y'know?" She was clearly on a buzz from performing. It was the most alive Daria had ever seen her (or anyone).

Jodie and Claire approached, laughing a little at how Monique had already smacked herself into the group. "Sorry about her!" Claire shook her head, her arms crossed.

The pair were exactly how you would expect Monique's friends to look. Tall, high-heels, thick eye-liner and clothes that Daria would never touch, ever. The only distinguishing features were the fact Claire had bright red hair (dyed, obviously) while Jodie was a beach-worn blonde.

She could tell them apart as one had drummer sticks (whatever they were called) poking out of her back pocket.

"Don't feel too bad about it boys," Jodie smirked, her eye flicking between Trent and Max. Nick and Jesse were both too laid-back to get annoyed at the girls for having such a positive reaction.

"Ain't a competition," Max snapped. Despite singing their praises before, he seemed hostile around them. Daria was confused, and it showed.

"Jodie." Trent pointed at the blonde, then to the red-head. "And Claire."

"Such a wonderful introduction," Claire laughed. Her accent was radically different from everyone else, but Daria couldn't pick where from. She definitely wasn't American. "And who are you?"

"Daria!" Monique interjected, cuddling up to Daria.

"Is she always this -"

Claire nodded. Jodie just rolled her eyes. "She's clingy," Jodie stage-whispered.

Trent and Max were still glaring at the girls. The girls seemed used to their countenance. "Can we help you?"

"A beer," Jodie said happily, dragging a stand-alone chair over to the table. Claire followed the suit, happily stealing one of Trent's untouched beers. The familiarity between all of them caused Daria unease, as if she was missing something crucial. At least Monique had stopped clinging to her.

The group chatted and joked until the girls had to split off for their next set. Daria remained incredibly quiet whilst they talked, and only spoke up when they had left. "That was interesting..."

"Yeah, we went to high school with those girls."

Daria nodded. She felt that her camaraderie with the boys of Mystik Spiral was suddenly less impressive than she initially thought. They were guys she got along with, sure, but she couldn't hold a conversation with them at such lengths. And she definitely didn't match Jodie's edginess, or Claire's ability to play dumb.

"Probably should have let you talk to them. We've been needing an extra girl to even out the numbers," Nick joked.

Daria looked at Nick with a furrow to her brows.

"Not that we're dragging you into our ranks just to even numbers. I mean, it just worked out nicely, right?"

"You're lucky you've got a kid to take care of. Otherwise..." Daria made a threatening hand gesture, to which Max and Jesse laughed. Trent was still painfully aware of Monique singing on stage. Max stole Trent's remaining drink.

"So we heading to Trent's afterwards?" Nick inquired.

"For sure," Jesse agreed with a smile.

The Holy Harpies played a few more songs before descending from the stage once more, their instruments being packed away by a few guys dressed in black. Presumably the venue's staff. Monique rushed over to hug the boys goodbye, while Jodie and Claire just waved stoically from just next to the back-door exit.

"Daria!" Monique smiled, snatching the other woman's hand, gently tugging her aside. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh?"

Monique nodded affirmatively, her eyes searching the venue for somewhere a little more private. "C'mon."

Daria reluctantly followed behind Monique, her hands now knotted in front of her as a defense from Monique. "What's up?" Daria asked, her attention carefully set on Trent and the other guys. They were her ride home, after all. She didn't need to be stranded in a dark, creepy venue all on her own – with Monique.

"I just," Monique paused, gnawing at her her perfectly glossed lip, "I'm sorry if I've been annoying or whatever. You're just really interesting."

"Oh."

"Is that weird to say?" Monique asked with a frown. "I just mean, the girls around here? You can only find other girls who're interested in marrying some rich idiot and settling down to smack out a few children before they're twenty-five. Y'know? It's a cow town. It's lame. It's a dead-end."

Daria brushed her own fringe from her eyes, confused as to what Monique was trying to say.

"You remind me of myself." Monique paused. "I mean, not physically. Mentally. You want to get out, get rich. Right?"

"The rich part would be a nice extra, I guess." Daria remained emotionless, her uncertainty creeping up with every word Monique seemed to hold back. "Is there a point you're trying to make?"

Monique shrugged. "I just wanted to let you know that Jodie and Claire think you're cool, too. You don't have to slum with the Mystik bums all the time. You must get sick of only having guy friends, right?"

"Having friends in general is nice. I don't really care if they're male or female."

"Well hang out with us sometime, okay?"

"Okay..." Daria agreed with a slow, singular nod. "You really want to be my friend, don't you."

Monique shrugged, "I'm told I'm too emotional for my own good. I can't keep stuff bottled up. It's apparently a bad thing, but I own it, y'know?"

Daria didn't know, but she agreed nonetheless. "Look, I'm getting a lift with the guys, so, I'll see you around."

"Sure!" Monique dragged her into a bear hug, pecking her on the cheek. "Bye Daria!"

To say Daria was foreign to this kind of treatment was an understatement. Her unique sense of humor and withdrawn nature usually scared people off. It wasn't every day (or ever) she had someone so adamant about becoming her friend. As she waddled back over to the boys, she realized something.

Trent was the designated driver. At least he wouldn't be passed out on the floor again. She avoided their questioning looks as they exited out to the van. She wasn't even sure what had just happened.

...

A few nights later, Jane was sitting in the Lane kitchen, painfully struggling through her homework. It was times like this she wished she had a parent to con into doing the work for her; or anyone, actually. Trent had offered to help her out, but every time he helped, she got a really crappy mark.

"Writing is freaking hard. Why can't I draw a comic instead," Jane complained loudly. Her eyes were glued to her draft essay, which was only a few dozen words actually written. Most of them were curse words, and the word 'rhubarb' repeated multiple times.

"That 'rhubarb' thing only works for extras on TV shows," Daria explained from behind Jane. She was over to hang out with Trent after Monique's gig, but had heard the complaints from Jane all the way from the lounge-room. As a writer, she could empathize with Jane on some levels. Plus the lounge-room smelled like cheap pot and rank boys.

Jane scoffed, turning her chair to examine Daria. "I thought maybe the teacher would just accept I'm not a writer and slap a C on it anyway. The only requirement is a thousand words."

"You just have to write every day." Daria noticed the unconvinced look on Jane's face, "Trust me, it works. Everything takes practice. Just look at Trent and Mystik Spiral. They'd benefit from playing every day instead of smoking questionable substances."

"Maybe dumbing my brain down would make it easier to deal with my crippling inability to English well."

Daria snorted an accidental laugh, "Even then you'd be 100 IQ points above most other kids around here."

"I'm not a kid!"

"Whipper-snapper, then. Back in my day we had to write all our essays on rocks. With rocks!" Daria called over his shoulder. She returned to the assortment of relaxed stoners and shook her head. This really wasn't here scene. Without thinking, she turned around and re-entered the kitchen. "Want some help? It might put my English major to good use for the first time ever."

"Seriously?" Jane asked with a look of confusion. "I can't pay you or anything."

Daria snorted once more. "Don't stress. It's just until your brother stops watching his hands like they're out to kill him."

"They tried to get him in his sleep once."

"According to?"

"The police reports. There's a restraining order, but who really follows those things?" Jane smirked, offering her meager scribbles across to Daria. She needed the help; it was nice of Daria to offer.

...

"Quinn?" Daria peeked her head into her younger sister's room. "I wanted to ask you something."

"I knew the day would finally come where you acknowledged you have a problem when applying eyeliner. Sit, Daria. We can begin immediately." Quinn indicated her floral pink vanity seat, a nasty piece of work. It suited the room.

"I actually wanted to talk about – friends."

Quinn's head tilted at a curious angle. "Are you making friends, Daria?"

Daria's deadpan expression hardly answered anything.

"That's amazing. I'm so proud. Maybe if you start wearing your eyeliner in a more appropriate manner, you'll even get a boyfriend or two." Quinn sat up a little straighter, her hands locked neatly around her knees. "So, what is your question, oh socially inept one?"

"When did you learn that word?"

"You kept calling me 'scholastically inept' last year, so I looked it up."

Daria hummed an impressed sound, her arms crossed in front of her. She was pressed against the door-frame, reluctant to enter the pink palace. "Just a group of girls asked me to hang out with them, and I'm trying to work out why. I mean, what do they want?"

"Obviously not your clothes," Quinn thought aloud, "did you tell them you're rich?"

"Have you ever thought, maybe, that friends are a quality over quantity deal?"

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you over all the crazy," Quinn smiled. She seemed to think for a few seconds before raising her hand in a moment of realization. "Maybe they just like your uniqueness."

"I can't believe I asked your opinion at all."

"No, I mean it, Daria!" Quinn defended. "Some people actually like being social outcasts. Maybe they want to be social outcasts with you. Maybe it's some new, like, trend in Lawndale where being uncool is cool."

"Thanks."

"No problem." Quinn smiled, brushing her hair over her shoulder. She looked at the floor for a moment before looking back up at Daria. "Um. I never said thank you for looking out for me, at the modelling thing. I know you had to be there or whatever, but I – just – it was – thanks." Quinn turned a rare shade of red.

"Oh. It's no problem." Daria took of her glasses, rubbing at her temples. "You know you don't have to do that sort of stuff when you're a model, don't you Quinn? If you really want to be a model, go for it I guess. Just go for catalogs, or perfume ads. Avoid boys."

Quinn raised an eyebrow at Daria. "Avoid boys? Really? You had a boyfriend for years."

"He was a mistake. All the more reason to avoid boys forever. Maybe become a model at a nunnery."

"Gross Daria! They aren't even allowed to use mirrors or make-up!"

Daria rolled her eyes and exited her sister's bedroom. She wasn't sure what she had hoped to get out of that conversation. Something told her it had nothing to do with genuinely needing her advice – she just wanted to check in on her. After spending time with Jane, she saw how close Trent and Jane were. They had to be, in their situation. There weren't parents around to rely on.

As she closed the door to her bedroom, Daria wondered for a fleeting moment how she would survive in Trent's position. Jane was a smart kid, but it had to be nerve-wracking. A teenage sister, with boys, and school, and their future to worry about.

For the first time in a long while, she was thankful for her mom and dad, and for their continuous efforts to insert themselves into her life.


	11. Coffee Shop Con

**Chapter Eleven: Coffee Shop Con  
**

It'd been a few weeks since she had first witnessed the Holy Harpies play, and not much had changed. No new drama, no drunken accidents and not a single pizza slice left uneaten. Daria wasn't complaining, of course. Daria always loved the predictable, and in Lawndale that was the standard. What could be wrong with everything remaining exactly the same from day to day? It was boring, but in the warm, familiar way that helped senior citizens deal with being in retirement homes.

The same could be said for the cafe she was currently sitting in. Everything was warm shades of brown and red, with a few chalkboards decorating the walls. There were very few people in the cafe, and even less wandering the street. Lawndale always felt like a zombie virus away from being the star of a horror film. Then again, the kids she helped teach seemed to be showing the signs of a zombie virus already.

Daria sipped at her coffee, her attention on the lame magazine covers that advertised ridiculous weight-loss plans and the best way to cut your nails to attract a man. The notion that there was more than one way to cut your nails was a tribute to how desperate the fashion industry had become. They were truly scraping the barrel. As the coffee shop door rung a note as someone entered, Daria looked up.

"Monique." Daria greeted, feigning happiness. She wasn't emotive at the best of times, but Monique seemed desperate to remove her thick façade of monotone disinterest. Daria just found it easier to pretend than explain she didn't want to smile all the time. It wasn't before long she was forcibly standing, Monique tightly hugging her.

"Dar!"

"Daria." Daria corrected for the umpteenth time.

"Oh come on, Dar is a cute nickname."

"No, it's what my grandma used to call me."

"Used to?"

"I had to make her stop somehow." Daria smiled knowingly. Really, she had just outgrown the nickname. It was more fun to pretend she was a murderous sociopath than admit to aging. She sat back down, her arms acting as props to keep her from sinking too far into the seat. It had threatened to engulf her more than once that day.

"Sorry I'm late." Monique apologized. She set down a few bags, presumably groceries, before smiling back to Daria. "I was getting some things for dinner and you know how that is. Old people suck at unloading their carts and then you have to wait for the kid serving you. It's crazy."

Daria nodded along, not really understanding. In college, she had survived on take-out and the occasional salad. She did help her mother when groceries were required, but that was less and less frequent with the option to have food delivered to their door by grocers. Her coffee sat between her hands, still too hot to be sipped.

It was then Daria noticed that Monique had been talking all the while, her lips moving non-stop. For such a dark, demure looking girl, Monique never shut up. And when she started ranting about how terrible Trent was as a partner, there was no hope left for anyone within earshot.

"- and then I told Trent that if we were going to start dating again, that he'd have to stop that annoying thing he does with his guitar pick. Where he picks at his nails with it? You know what I mean, don't you?"

Daria made a sound, one that could only be described as non-committal and withdrawn. When it came to Trent and Monique, it had become more and more apparent that you nodded and agreed. Not to the point of offering an actual opinion. Chances were they would resume dating within the week, and you didn't want to be in trouble. Daria was well-practiced in pretending to care without saying a thing.

"It's so nice to have you as a friend." Monique sighed, patting Daria on the knee. She stood up, walking over to the counter in search of her own drink. As always, she was wearing tight pants, too-tall heels and a lot of make-up. Daria didn't have a clue how they were friends, or why, just that they were. It gave her enough ammo to deter her mother when it came to 'finding new friends'.

Not that Daria would turn down an improvement on the falsified image of a Goth Barbie doll she had become accustomed to. Monique was a constant, just like Lawndale, just like her job and just like her family.

Maybe Daria was getting a little sick of the constants in her life.

Like old people getting sick of kids on their lawn.

"So what did you do last night?" Monique asked, her head tilted to the side. She seemed interested, but she had the same lack of attention in her eyes as Daria did when Ms. Li started talking.

"I read."

"You always read."

"There's a lot of books out there. I have to make sure they all suck as much as I think they do."

Monique rolled her eyes, one leg crossed over the other. It was impressive, given the tight pants wrapped around her bony limbs. "I think you need to start coming out to the Zon again. We miss you." Monique complained. Her fondness seemed genuine, even if her pout was as well-practiced and insincere as Quinn's.

Daria shrugged before taking a long sip from her coffee. It was a nice excuse not to speak. When she realized that Monique was waiting for her to break, she sighed. "It's not my 'scene'." Daria used one hand to indicate quotation marks around the word 'scene'. It wasn't a phrase she used lightly, if at all. It was very specific to the band people she knew.

"Why not? It's not like you have to be a musician to like music."

"A lot of that crap they play isn't music. It's a lot of screaming and people dealing with break-ups through said screaming."

"That's only Mystik Spiral," said Monique over the rim of her coffee mug. She never hid her contempt for the boys' band.

Daria set her coffee down as she sat backwards. Maybe she could escape through the window, or create a makeshift smoke bomb out of the dust from the books in her bag. They were from the back sections of the library, and were older than most the people she knew. Her attention returned to Monique when she realized there was no way she could construct a smoke bomb.

"I don't get the loud music and alcohol. Never have, never will, and I thank God for that. I like my brain cells."

It became clear to Monique that she wasn't getting her way. "But I think I know a guy you might like. I've been thinking of ways to get you used to Lawndale, and what better way than getting a guy to call up when you're bored?"

"I have four guys to call up if I get bored." Daria paused. "To hang out with. For pizza. Or contemptible silence."

Monique's annoyance became even more prominent. Her shoulders angled, her eyes narrowed and her lips puckered outward. "I mean a guy to date, not to latch onto like you're some home-wrecker." Monique made an annoyed growl. "Daria, why do you make everything so difficult?" Monique shook her head, her mouth twisting into a smile. "It's cute. You're so crazy. I like it."

Daria thanked some invisible, omnipotent thing in the sky that the situation had diffused itself. Monique looked like she could claw her eyes out without much effort. "I guess I can come out, maybe. If you're so eager to see me awkwardly bob around a dance floor and try not to get smothered to death by fishnets and hairspray."

"Perfect!"

Daria made a pitiful cheering sound, but she sure as Hell didn't know how Monique had twisted her arm into going out to the Zon (again). It was as if her mother was paying Monique to get her out of the house. It was infuriating. Her lips twitched as Monique spat out a quick goodbye, flatly kissing Daria on either cheek. Maybe this is how Quinn feels with all her idiotic friends.

Wait, what was Monique saying about a guy she wanted her to meet?

…

**A/N:** Apologies for the filler chapter, it just felt important to have a proper interaction between Daria and Monique before I press on. 

**Reviews, please!**


	12. A Promise Is A Promise

**Chapter Twelve: A Promise Is A Promise**

**A/N:** Black Sheep by Metric – that's the song I picture for this first part.

Daria threw her bag down, falling face first onto her bed. The day had gone slowly, far too slowly for her liking. There had been more work this week, given the usual file jockeys were on leave. This left Daria in Principal Li's office, sorting and filing. The pay was decent, but the work was benign. It was easily the final blow to her sanity, as she switched on her stereo as loudly as she could manage.

The world around her was growing slower, dimmer, and duller. There was no spark, no need to get a word in edgewise. No need to fight back and no way to escape. With her pillow over her face, music blaring, it almost felt normal. It was almost like being somewhere else, somewhere she could be properly alone, and able to write.

A tiny buzz brought her back from her resignation, a quizzical tilt to her brow. She dug in her pocket, pulling out her phone. What did Monique want _now_? She'd spent all day playing lackey to a crazy militaristic woman – Daria didn't need round two with passive-aggressive Elvira. She was supposed to spend the night at the Zon, if only to deter more badgering from the Harpies.

The message was not much more than a number – Nathan's number, it seemed. That was the guy Monique had told her about, wasn't it? Daria contemplated deleting it without a second thought. She could lie, and say the message never sent, or she found out he was a gimp in a strip club. That was her back-up plan, for the moment.

In fear of the repercussions, along with the reluctance to maintain a lie, Daria sent off a message. It wasn't too exciting. It took several cautious seconds to write, proofread, and send.

_"We should get coffee so Monique will leave me alone."_

A few hours later, she received a message back. It mirrored her own lacklustre attitude, for better or worse.

_"Whatever time suits you. Whatever." _

Why were they even being forced together? Daria pondered this as she sat at the Zon, waiting for music to start up. It was a repetitive, annoying mix of loud bass and tuneless singing. The guys were setting up backstage, and Monique had yet to hound her down. Daria was thankful for that. She brushed her fringe out of her eyes, with her elbows set on the bar's wooden surface.

When the boys returned from the musky backstage, Daria met them with a look of confusion. They had left her to go perform last time she checked.

"We have to wait for them to finish." Jesse waved over his shoulder towards the stage.

The other band members looked just as bummed out, not that Daria could tell the difference. They were rarely expressive. She could tell, however, that this band on stage had to be the owner's friends, or family. They were worse than the usual groups, and _that_ was saying something. She grimaced, taking a sip of her water. The mood didn't improve as they proceeded to perform the eighth or ninth encore that no one had asked for.

"If I die of boredom, will you make sure nobody touches my corpse?"

Max scoffed over his glass. "Nick, shut up."

Nick just smiled, arms splayed over the bar as he waited for his scotch and coke to arrive. His hair was already stuck to a spot, though he didn't seem to notice (or care, for the matter). They all seemed uniquely disinteresting tonight. The glitz and glamour of a garage band was wearing thin.

Daria turned to Trent, who had been exceptionally quiet. Usually he had some smartass comment, but he seemed consumed by thought. A rare occurrence. "How's the –"

"Hey guys!"

As luck (or cruel fate) would have it, Monique bounced over to them, her hips swinging like a pendulum. Everyone smiled and groaned in welcoming, aside from Daria who remained midway through a sentence. She let the conversation starter die in her throat, lips pursed together.

Claire and Jodie were sitting at a table nearby, a table that they relocated to with some difficulty. It was a big group to accommodate for after all. Jesse and Max dragged another table across to them so it would be easier to seat everyone.

"Girls."

"Tch, we're grrrls." Claire corrected, a smirk on her lips.

Conversations broke out across the table, varying from musical theory to TV shows they hated. For the first time in a long while, Monique seemed less interested in chatting to Daria, and more interested in Trent. Daria smiled to herself, sure that this was a good sign. She didn't need to be hounded by the lead singer twenty-four, seven. It was grating to her barely-there patience. She was got time to chat with Claire about her home in England, and why she had chosen to move across to such an unremarkable part of America.

"I moved here with m'family a few years back." Her admittance was brave, but sheepish. "I made friends here, and now we're in a band. I didn't see a point in movin' back, not without them anyway."

Daria nodded, pretending she understood. Daria hadn't really had friends with moving (or staying) for. It was a strange concept of devotion she didn't quite get. Being a uniquely lonely girl most of her life meant she never had to worry about moving; there was never much to leave behind, except for the occasional idiot or bully.

Once the guys finally got their time on stage, Daria remained for two songs. The yawning never stopped, not even with their 'hits' like Icebox Woman. Given she was driving, she didn't need to pass out on the way home. A car crash wasn't sounding ideal right now.

"Are you leaving?" Monique sighed.

Then again…

Daria shouldered her bag a little higher, yawning against the back of her hand once more. "Before I fall asleep on the table, yeah."

She looked thoughtful for a moment before shrugging, waving her hand to Daria. "Go, go. You need rest before you see Nathan." A cat-like smirk spread across her face.

"Ooh_, Nathan_?" Claire grinned.

"You're seeing _Nathan_?" Jodie echoed.

The girls were apparently unaware of the date, but aware of the man. Daria silently hoped it was for good reasons; she didn't want to put up with an idiot, or mace a jerk. She glanced between the three Harpies, looking fearful.

"He isn't some Phatom of the Opera type or something, is he?" Daria pushed her chair back in, arms crossed over her chest. The emphasis on his name really made her uneasy.

Monique shook her head. "Just a brain. You'll like him. See you 'round, Dar."

Daria stared a little longer before shaking her head, waving very minutely to the three girls. As she marched towards the exit, she caught Trent's eye. An apologetic smile replaced her blank expression before she could stop it, quickly looking away from him. She felt bad for leaving during their performance, but she was sleepy, she was hungry and there was work in the morning.

Being an adult sucked. Not that, that was some new revelation.

At the age of twenty-two, you'd think arriving home after midnight was acceptable. Instead, she was greeted by Helen and Jake, sitting in the lounge looking contemptuous. "Young lady."

"I'm neither of those things." Daria let out a groan, stopping halfway up the stairs.

"Down here. Now." Helen's voice was crisp, concerned. Professional, as always. It made Daria's skin crawl.

"I'd like to point out I'm twenty-two, in case that slipped your mind." Daria sat down on the couch, ankles crossed and hands locked in her lap. While she was at home, she was expected to call home if she would be home late. In all honesty, she hadn't expected to be out so late. She hadn't even meant to go out at all – but she had made a promise. This was exactly why she should never make promises in the first place.

"We have rules."

"Which apply to Quinn, because she's underage, remember? I'm an adult, I work…" Daria listed off her qualities, trying her best to keep a level tone. She could see the tiredness to her mother's eyes, and the slump to Jake's shoulders. It wasn't fair to any of them; they were living in the past, and she was stuck with them.

After a short discussion about ethics and morals and responsibility, Daria knew what she had to do.

"I'm moving out."

Helen scoffed, shaking her head. "I don't expect you to move out – you don't earn enough money, and you're only here to save up so you can make it back to New York." Helen let out an annoyed little breath. "We just expect a level of responsibility –"

"No, you _expect_ me to abide by rules that haven't applied to me since I left for college. I _get _you both think of me as your little girl, or your baby, but I'm not. I can afford to live in my own place, and – " Daria slowed her words, regaining her composure. "It will take longer to get back to New York, but it'll also mean less stress for you guys. And for me. I appreciate the help, but I don't think this is working."

Daria stood up, hands clenched by her side. "I'll – start looking for places tomorrow. You two can help, if you want." She offered that last part as solace. They could remain part of her life, but they weren't going to get a chokehold on how she lived. She was a mature adult, and it was damn well time she started acting like it.

The sound of the front door opening caught Daria's attention. All three of them turned to look at Quinn, who was sneaking in from a date.

"Hey, while we're on the topic, can I get my own apartment too?"

"You're in trouble." The words came from Helen and Daria in tandem, with Daria looking bemused as possible. The night had taken a turn for the worse and the better. She excused herself, waddling upstairs to flop onto her bed once more. With work in the morning and her sudden decision to move out of the house (whether that happened or not) made her feel tired. More tired than she'd felt, even at the Zon.

A buzz from her pocket once more. Daria groaned and dug her phone out of her pocket.

"_you missed our gig._"

"_I had a crappy night – I'll see you guys next time, I promise._"

Daria mentally slapped herself – didn't she say earlier all these promises would get her in trouble? At least with Trent, the trouble might be fun. A stupid thought flicked through her mind, complete with a goofy smile and red-tinged cheeks.

"_you promised, so don't complain when i drag you out._"

That little pixelated message was enough to make her crappy week – and that was sad to think about. "You're a damn fool, Morgendorffer."

"Daria, stop talking to yourself! I'm trying to get my beauty sleep!"


	13. Six Left Feet

Trent collapsed in the Lane household, his guitar slipping onto a pile of mail they hadn't sorted through yet. Like usual, it was late as fuck. And, like usual, they sucked. Beyond sucked. Sometimes Trent could laugh it off, play up the rasp in his voice or the twangs to his notes. But that night, everything had that extra glimmer of shit to it that he couldn't brush off. Artist's block. Artist's stump. Whatever it was called. Janey always complained about it.

"You're home late, rockstar."

Trent smiled, spotting his sister eating cereal on the couch. Nevermind it was one in the morning, or the fact she'd found milk in the house, he was happy to see her. She was his warm little center of the world. The Lane that was gonna make it big in the world. "Livin' the lifestyle of rockstars has gotta make me a rockstar, right?"

"It'll make you tired as Hell." Jane paused, thoroughly chewing her cereal. "That said, you're always tired. Maybe you're already a rockstar!" With a jab of her spoon, she laughed.

"That ain't nice." Trent slumped onto the couch, hands tucked behind his head. There was a quietness that he only found in their home, nothing but him and his sister. Them against the world. Proving every single crappy family member, every neglectful parent, that he - they - were capable of making it on their own.

The quiet remained between them till Trent pushed himself off the couch. There were probably remnants of whatever cereal she was eating in the kitchen, which meant dinner-breakfast for him.

"No guys?" Jane asked, head tilted just so.

Trent turned back, confusion evident in his slack jaw.

"Your band?"

"Oh. Nah. They all went out for drinks. I wasn't feelin' it." That hadn't been something he understood. Drinking and Trent were hand in hand. When Monique kept pressing the idea of shots, he usually jumped on it. Free booze was free booze. He still owed Jesse that new shirt, and Max a new cymbal, but it was worth it. It was fun.

Except, that. It was fun. Why wasn't it fun anymore?

"Are you over partying?" Jane gasped, her hands tucked under her chin. She was watching Sick, Sad World, though that had gone unnoticed. She spat more barbs and words at him, though none seemed to sink in. He had better shit to be doing than explaining himself to Jane. He loved her, but she was harshing his post-gig high with her attitude. Without another word, he snatched up his guitar and plodded upstairs.

After kicking and nudging shit out of the way to his bed, he collapsed. In the darkness, maybe he had a sneaking suspicion of why he didn't want to go out. And, more importantly, why he hadn't wanted to get trashed with Monique. Trent rolled onto his back, fishing out his brick of a phone. A Christmas present from his parents - personally, he'd have preferred a new boiler, or radiator, or blanket... But a phone. Whatever.

There were few names in his phone. The guys from his band. The girls from Monique's band. Monique's number (which was routinely added and deleted each week). Then, there was Daria's name. And damn, did that feel a little lame to smile at. Her sarcasm, her dismissals, her attitude - all of it made him want to show her what she was missing out on. At the drop of a hat, he'd be happy to see how that all went. But, for now, he focused on the neutral. From their drunken slip-up, he gathered she wasn't used to cutting loose.

Babysteps, Trent.

_"you missed our gig."_

Simple. Efficient. He wasn't looking to guilt her, and in retrospect, that's exactly what he'd gone and tried to do. He frowned at his phone until he passed out. He woke up once more when the buzzing made him think he was having a stroke.

_"I had a crappy night – I'll see you guys next time, I promise."_

All she'd done was sit with the Harpies, chilled, drank... How did she even have the means to have a crappy night? Trent rolled his eyes, taking the good with the bad. If she agreed to another gig, maybe that meant she wasn't entirely resentful of the band yet.

_"you promised, so don't complain when i drag you out."_

Why did he give a crap what she thought of his band? Trent tapped out another quick message, a slight smile on his face. Between the sheets and the adrenaline of the stage wearing away, he desperately needed to sleep. He'd see her later, and they'd work out details. Maybe she'd even agree to dinner.

No.

Trent Lane didn't do dinner, dancing, none of that showpony crap.

Unless... No.

"Goddamnit. Someone shoot me through the head, I'd be better off dead." Trent yawned. As the words rolled around in his head, he let out a soft laugh. "That'd be a good song." He rolled over and went out like a light. The emotional highs after a performance made him see things that didn't exist. There were so many lost thoughts, ill-planned dates, sloppy makeouts. Trent learned when he was sixteen how badly the adrenaline and music made everything seem like a better idea.

Tomorrow he'd worry about it. Maybe.

...

The next morning, Daria was met with the awkward chat with her parents. While they had left her well enough alone that night, they had their opinions. Helen was emphasising the importance of Daria saving money so she could comfortably and responsibly move out within the next year. Jake threw out some uncontextual jabs at his daddy issues. After some deliberations, Daria agreed that she wouldn't move out. Not yet, at least. They did continue to harp on about the upcoming weekend. As it happened, Erin and her boyfriend (turned fiance) were getting married. And, while that usually merited celebration, Daria had started taking bets on how long they would last with her aunt Amy. Amy was more like an older sister than an aunt, not that she would admit that to her, or her mother.

By virtue of being an adult, she left the house without a grounding for her drama. Her parents empathised with her enough to understand how frustrated she was. Not that she ever admitted that. Their conversation was more one-sided than the Quinn's time with a mirror.

There was a lot to be said for Lawndale. Nothing good, nothing that made you want to live there, but there was a lot you could say about it. It offered the stupidity of a larger town with so few people. The Black Mesa cafe brewed the darkest, strongest coffee this side of the highway, or so she was told. There had been several occasions she had met Monique here for a coffee. And, by some unsurprising turn of events, Nathan happened to know the way here. So this was where Daria was going to meet this infamous Nathan Whatever-his-last-name-was. Details skipped her mind, but it sounded like a fungus.

Demilinouous, or something to that effect.

As luck would have it, Daria ran into student after student when she went out into the world. From Mack and Jodie, two of the smarter students, to Kevin and Brittany... The less intellectually inclined. On a day where, despite all her protests, she was finally meeting Nathan. While she expected a non-event, with the man most likely to vanish as soon as she offered her opinion.

"One decaf grandé latte for Dara."

"_Not _decaf." Daria paused. "And it's Daria."

The barista gave her a look - the same one she got from every other person who misheard or mispronounced her name. One day, she might stop correcting them. As long as they didn't call her Darlene, she _might_ be able to cope.

"Babe, don't look right at her." The voice was familiar, squeaking out tones only dying cats, Mystik Spiral and balloons could achieve.

"I'm not! I'm just confused. Teachers aren't supposed to be outside school, are they?" Kevin shuddered, holding Brittany closer.

"Maybe she escaped." Brittany shrugged, arms twined around Kevin. Daria cast a look over her shoulder which froze the pair. They spent the next few seconds trying to find something else to stare at. It was like watching a magic eight ball struggle to pick a side.

"Hey, Ms. Morgendorffer." Mack offered, a smile on his lips that Daria noted to be genuine.

"Great, my cover has been blown." She picked up her coffee, a grandé latté for Dara. At least they got it half-right. So what if the name was incorrect, she had enough coffee to be chipper about it. With one last glance at the students, she held her monotone. "Tell no one I was here." She walked across to an empty table and chairs. There was still some conversation between the four students, but she was willingly oblivious. There was nothing to overhear, especially not when she had a book and a date to worry about.

It felt more like a playdate, for a socially inept child to try and break out of their shell. Simply put, Daria felt as thought she was a child all over again. She cracked open her book on Marxist theories and began to read. There were student learning plans to revise, tests to grade... Boring things. The things she probably wasn't legally supposed to go, but had more interest in doing. Strangely enough, Daria enjoyed teaching. That was enough to make her set the papers aside and bury her nose deeper into her book.

...

"Why are we at Dega Street again?"

"I need strings."

"Why didn't we go to Yarn Barn, I have a coupon."

"_Guitar_ strings, Jesse." As Trent had been strumming earlier that day, one of the strings finally went. It wouldn't cost much to replace them, but Trent had expected Jesse to have his cut of the pay. "What d'you mean you bought shots?"

"Max had extra money, so we bought a round of shots."

Trent growled, hands over his face. That extra money had been his money. Max had taken it, agreed to pass it out, but neglected to hand off Trent's payment. He'd have a few key words for that guy when he saw him next. As it happened, Jesse didn't have a cent on him, either. The pair stared at one another, reluctant to scab money off the street. They'd long since passed the need to beg since getting a regular slot at the Zon. Instead, Trent suggested they just head back to his house and wait for Max to cough up the dough.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Daria in the window seat of the Black Mesa cafe. "Jesse, Daria might be able to help us."

"I don't think she'd be into that."

Trent stayed quiet, staring at Jesse before punching him in the arm. There was no actual force behind it, but it didn't stop Jesse from flinching away. The pair (with Trent leading) entered the small coffee shop. They made a beeline for Daria, smiles on their faces. The woman didn't look up till Trent coughed, unable to hold it back. "Hey Daria."

"Trent." Daria tilted her head to get a better view of Jesse. The man had taken off on a tangent, walking towards the waitress carting drinks around. She sighed, turning her attention back to Trent. "What brings you here?" She marked her book with her finger, a very minute smile on her face. So far, Nathan was a no-show. It'd been half an hour, and her coffee had gone cold. She didn't mind either way, but it still annoyed her to no end.

"I - uh - hate to be a scab but..." Trent winced, hands burrowed into his pockets. "Max used my cut of the pay last night to buy shots. I kinda went home without it - and - I need new guitar strings." He flatly added the last part. It seemed rude to him to just walk up to someone and ask for something. Against his moral code, and against his rules of friendships. But this was a musical emergency. Daria would understand. "I'll pay you back as soon as I get the money."

Daria's expression softened, and Trent was honestly surprised. "As long as you pay me back." The tone had no threat to it, though he knew she meant business. "How much?"

"Twenty."

"The homeless are getting greedy, aren't they." A deep voice chuckled from behind Trent, propelled by malice. "Oh - I'm sorry - hello Trent."

Trent had frozen at the sound of the voice, shoulders squared. Daria had never seen him lock up. He wasn't afraid, per say. Incredibly pissed was a more accurate way to describe the red rising from his collarbone and the clenched fists. Daria looked between them as they sized one another up. Trent stepped aside, allowing Nathan to pass by. A small 'o' shape to his mouth made Daria's chest pang. Her face remained lifeless, blank, but her eyes were focused.

"I guess I'm interrupting." Trent swallowed hard, nodding. "Uh - sorry. Look. Don't worry about the money."

"Consider it a show of good faith." Nathan had plucked a twenty out of his wallet and tucked it into Trent's hand. A toothy smile was shared between the two, but Daria couldn't understand why. The pair seemed so tense all of a sudden. She had never met Nathan, but from the way he'd been described, she wasn't sure this was the best side of him. "And so you can pay Monique back for the guitar stand you stole off her."

Trent threw the note back at Nathan, turning on his heel.

Daria watched, her jaw slightly agape as Trent looked angry - and threw money away. Jesse followed in suit, flipping Nathan off as he exited. She stared, her finger still tucked between the pages of her book with a twenty in her free hand. She stared at it before tucking it back into her puse, eyes unfocused.

"I didn't know he was capable of such speeds." A small laugh, light-hearted and vague.

"He has to be good at something in his life, doesn't he."

It was in that moment Daria properly looked to Nathan. Instantly, she could see he came from money. The clothes were fresh, as if newly purchased and his smile looked expensive. It matched his haircut, and nails. It was almost alarming how put-together this man was. She blinked at the man, not registering this was her blind date. That he was here, for her. And that he'd been such an ass to Trent.

"I really didn't mind lending him the money." Daria frowned.

"No, no. Trent's one of those guys who uses and naps his way through life. No ambition." Nathan shook his head, raising a hand to her. "Don't fall for it. Monique's the same way. We've been friends for years, and ever since she got mixed up with Trent, she's stagnated." Nathan sighed, elbows set on his knees. "I'm sorry - I didn't know you were friends. This... Is sort of a crappy way to start out date, isn't it. Monique said you were an intelligent woman, but then when I saw you speaking with him, I just -"

"Just what?" Daria stared at the man all the same. This was the sort of guy she pictured Quinn bringing home. This was the sort of guy who wouldn't give her the time of day in any other situation. This was the sort of guy to be a jackass to one of her friends. Which, Trent was. They hadn't hung out together, and sure, they only saw each other at Trent's gigs but...

"Let me guess."

Daria tilted her head, keeping quiet for the moment. Her silence was mistaken for interest.

"He invited you to see his band playing." Nathan seemed to have softened. "And you went along, and went all starry-eyed because you saw him playing guitar. And he's a bad-boy. Girls these days, always trying to fix those broken, grungy boys. They're the sort of losers that get nowhere in life, you know. Stay in this cow town forever, never move on. Always living in dreams about getting famous, writing, being artsy." Nathan sighed again, teeth bared. "And I can tell by your expression you're having a big moment about how special a friend he is. Let me tell you -"

"Don't you dare tell me what you can read from my expression." Daria snapped her book up from the table, shoving it into her bag. With deadly silence, she packed up her Walkman, her phone, all the bits and pieces she'd been reading for classes this week. And after she was done with this, she met his eye, lips pursed. "Your first impression left me wondering if you were a total jackass. And now, after knowing me for no more than ten minutes, you begin attributing me with anecdotes based on your previous experiences with - what? - a few of Moniques friends, who I can only assume where struck starry-eyed by how well you understood them."

With a shoulder shrug, she picked up her bag, eyes still narrowed behind her frames. "I've met enough people in my lifetime to understand your angle. You dress the part. You smile when you're willing to. But god forbid someone be lesser than you. Get your head out of your own ass." Daria let out a sigh, strutting off out of the cafe. She stopped short of the door, calling back to him.

"When I get published, I'll make sure to have a special mention in the back for you. It must be difficult living life while being so goddamn pretentious."

And in that moment, she swore she was an idiot. For that sudden display, for how quick to snap at Nathan she was. The man had been the embodiment of self-entitlement, of all the trustfund babies that got scholarships over her. And of Troy. And of all the people in her life she wanted to punch in the face. Daria was glad she hadn't asked this dope to be her date; she might have strangled him with one of Quinn's strappy sandals.

While she inwardly raged, her expression was blank. Her tone was unchanged. Her exterior was maintained. And then there was Trent, who didn't bother to defend himself. Daria was angry at both of them, and at herself, and Monique. She was a grown woman. She didn't need this blowing up in her face, and invading her personal life. All Daria wanted to do was go home, sit down and relax.

...

"Wow Daria, I can't believe you made a scene!"

"What?"

While Daria fiddled her keys back into her bag, she spotted the source of the question. Quinn was staring over the back of the couch at Daria, her eyes wide with - admiration? "Everyone who's anyone is talking about how you totally flipped out at a guy on Dega Street."

"How did you hear about that?" Daria paled, her hand defaulting to her face. Her hopes for a quiet afternoon at home were ruined. It seemed fitting. A terrible blind date, no peace at home. Perhaps the universe was destined to wind her up till she committed murder.

"Brittany was with Kevin, who told Jamie, and well I found out through Jo - John? - whatever. And they all told Sandi, and I was like, why would you tell Sandi, when I can tell Sandi! They ruined my chance to gossip!" Quinn complained. The girl wound herself down, taking deep breathes while talking about stress wrinkles.

"Why do you sound proud of me?"

"Because, you were totally with Nathan DeMilianoious!"

"That sounds like a disease." Daria frowned.

"The son of the guy who like, invented the toaster strudle." Quinn rolled her eyes. "He's super rich, super hot, and number four on the Top Eligible But Way Old Men Of The Tri-State Area list." When Daria didn't seem to react to this statement, Quinn threw her arms up in the air. "You could have brought him to Erin and Bryan's wedding this weekend!"

Daria blanched once more. While it sounded familiar, Daria didn't recall being told about it. In a mad rush, she checked the family's planner. The only handwriting to be seen was Helen's, save for the occasional scratch from Daria, her dad or Quinn. Her finger traced the date, lips pursed tightly together. That had been on the calendar for weeks now, but it was so inconsequential. All she had to do was show up. A vague blip on her radar seemed to appear as she heard her mother's car pull up.

"I'll be in my room!" Daria rushed as best she could upstairs, closing the door behind her. The conversation with her mother refreshed in her mind. Helen kept harping on about going to get the dress fitted, and to find a date. All the bridesmaids and groomsmen were around Quinn's age, and they thought it'd be better if Daria stepped down from that role. She was thankful, but that meant she had to pick a dress.

And pick a date.

And that's why she'd asked Nathan out in the first damn place.

Daria fell onto her bed, face covered with her pillow. There had to be a quick fix to this situation. After her tirade at Nathan's expense, she couldn't rely on that anymore. All it required was a phonecall and a set of guitar strings. At least, that's what she was hoping the terms would be.

**A/N: Nathan will be popping up. He was supposed to be introduced as a nice guy, but I wanted to have him start out on the wrong foot. He's a little of Tom, but mostly my own concoction. Please don't forget to review! It makes me smile every single time I get one!**


	14. Some Things Never Change

**Chapter Fourteen: Some Things Never Change**

Daria spent the next day ignoring texts from Monique, Nathan and an unknown number, while trying in vain to contact Trent. It was a futile situation that amounted to her focusing on work. She pressed the palm of her hand to her face, eyes closed and lips pursed. There was so much excess in her life, she felt as though she was in high school. The kind of high school she watched others suffer through while she quietly read. It didn't seem fair to her. It annoyed her, truthfully. There were too many things she wanted to say, and no one to say them to. Even with the Harpies, Spiral and her family, she felt so alone in this town. And, in avoiding key people, she begun to realize this ten-fold.

Thursday afternoon, Helen approached her about her situation. Situation, referring to her going 'stag' to her cousin's wedding. There were words spoken to her, but they amounted to little more than a nuance. It never mattered before to her mother whether or not she was dating someone. It was all to prove some inane point to her sisters, and her mother, and whoever else Helen was striving to outdo. It grew later and later, till she decided one last try. It felt stupid to be striving so hard for one man's attention. Especially when she considered him a friend. Daria felt guilty about the encounter with Nathan and Trent. She hadn't known their situation, and she still didn't. It wouldn't have made sense to intervene, but it still made her cringe to think about.

Finally, she caved. Armed with a set of guitar strings - which the store clerk was able to pick out for her, thanks to Spiral's consistent purchases - Daria went to visit Casa Lane. After a few knocks, Jane answered the door. Of all the damn, rotten luck...

"Ms. Morgendorffer?" Jane sounded concerned, surprised and amused all at once. Her eyes fell onto the bag, then darted back to her face. "Um - did you need something?" Even though Daria had been over once or twice, and given the girl a lift several times, there was a palpable tension. Not negative, but illplaced.

Daria grit her teeth, sighing through her teeth. "Trent's passed out upstairs, right?"

"Oooh. Yeah. He's in the basement Something about being inspired by Dega street." The young girl's face seemed stony, as though she knew something Daria didn't about the man. What more could be revealed about him?

"That's - sort of what I'm here for." Daria shifted her weight, keeping her words to a minimum.

Jane stepped aside, scratching the back of her neck. "Thank God, I thought you were here about my English essay being late. I mean. Head on up." Jane coughed, darting off for the kitchen. It was almost Trent-like, save for the speed at which she ran. Daria almost smiled, rolling her eyes. She turned her focus to the stairs. The open door and the permission were enough to encourage her in. Part of her wondered if there was a reason beyond needing a date for the wedding - that thought was quickly kicked aside for business. Baby steps. Making sure he didn't want to throw anything at her, for sticking around with Nathan.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the broken, nasty twang of a guitar sung through the air. She cringed openly, teeth snapping together. She wondered if her hearing would ever recover from that. The music had stopped when she'd knocked, but being so close to the source? How did Jane stand it... "Um. Hello?"

"Shoot me in the head, I'm better off dead."

Daria cringed anew, hand settled on her face. She felt awful, even indirectly. While she and Trent were not the best of friends, they'd gotten along. There were a few sloppy, drunken lapses in memory where she ended up with pancakes in her purse, but otherwise... Friends. Perhaps better friends, with this attempt at an olive branch. It felt theatrical to Daria, offering something in order to sate someone's feelings, but it helped. Apparently. Hopefully.

"Dolled down girl with dead doe eyes, rich boy spreading wealth and lies."

Daria pushed the door open properly. It had been ajar, so she assumed it was okay to open it. And, with all the noise? No way he'd hear her. She was met with Trent and Jesse, slamming out music on their guitars. Both seemed pensive, though they didn't register her arrival. She sighed, waving her hand. "Guys?"

"Pressure of society, drawing blood from the stone."

"Pressure of - society? That doesn't even make sense. Not for this song." Jesse frowned, his hands falling away from his guitar.

There it was. The Mystik Spiral lilt, the lapse in artistic agreement. The pair stopped, turning to each other. "Man, I thought we agreed on - "

Trent didn't get the chance to finish his sentence, as both noticed Daria standing there. Quietly, patiently, though her eyes suggested otherwise. Her hands were folded in front of her, set on the strap of her bag. Trent eyed her, his mouth opening to ask what she wanted.

"I wanted to apologize."

Jesse mumbled something about needing to feed his lawn. With that, he set off for upstairs, guitar still plugged in. After a moment, a fumble and an apology, he was gone. Daria and Trent stood quietly, neither making eye contact. It was Trent who broke the silence first, a sigh sounding like an avalanche in the dank, dark basement of Casa Lane.

"I don't need an apology."

"I don't even know what I'd be apologizing for, but I - the other day..." Daria took a breath, keeping her monotone even in the moment. She felt there was some tension in her choice. That, and the image of Trent so locked up, angry, afraid. It made her more irritable than she liked to admit, and as she met his eye, she forced herself to look back at the ground. "Monique kept encouraging me to go on a blind date with this guy. The guy being Nathan."

Trent scratched at his tattoo on his left arm, not sure what to reply with. "Like I said, I didn't mean to interrupt. Or cause a scene or whatever." The same red hue rose in Trent's collarbone, though Daria got the distinct feeling it wasn't from anger this time. She didn't like this, this fear of speaking freely. It felt force and unnatural.

"After you left, he tried to psychoanalyse me for defending you. I called him an asshole, told him to not contact me again and left. Can we just pretend he doesn't exist?" Daria bit out that least phrase rather clearly, her hands fidgeting with the strap of the bag. "I didn't appreciate his elitist attitude, or his disregard for the arts. That said, I didn't really speak further to him. If he's Monique's friend -"

"Fuck buddy."

Daria narrowed her eyes, not wanting to address that interjection. "That's fine for her. But personally, I prefer people who can be comfortable with themselves, and don't thrive on being narcissistic jerks for a living." Daria let out a small breath, not sure she had spoken this honestly since her time with Troy. She tucked some hair behind her ear, finally meeting Trent's eye. He seemed guilty somehow, his lips as drawn together as hers. "So - I don't know. I don't have friends here."

"Hey, you have Monique, and the guys - "

Daria shook her head. "Not looking for a pep talk. I'm trying to be honest. I go to gigs with you guys, I listen to you play, and Nathan decided it was a good thing to point out. I don't - "

"Are you trying to break up with me, when we're not even dating?"

Daria almost laughed, eyebrows snapping up. "What? No."

"'Cause I think of you as my friend." Trent crossed his arms, shrugging as he examined her. "I didn't mean to screw up your thing with Nathan, but the guy's an ass anyway. I guess I'm glad you think so too. Monique never shuts up about how amazing he is when we're broken up."

Daria squinted, unsure what his point was. "You think of me as your friend?"

"Uh, yeah." Trent drew that out longer than Daria cared for. "Sort of."

"Sort of?"

Trent chewed at his inner cheek, eyes averted. Daria couldn't read him, though it was only fair. The pair kept quiet. Daria didn't know how to respond to that. She thought of the weekend, and her promise to her mother. She thought of Monique, and her constant hawk-like attitude when it came to Daria and Trent hanging out. And then she thought of the stupid, fuzzy feeling she got when he winked at her. The kind of thing that would have sent her to hospital in high school with some crazy rash or heart attack, and yet... Now? Daria blushed unwittingly, hand raking through her hair to cover her face. As quick as it rose, her face returned to normal.

"I need a favour."

Trent instantly turned his attention back to Daria, an unfamiliar edge to his focus. She kept her composure, sighing through her nose.

"It's gonna sound really strange but..." Daria realized that the more she prefaced it, the worse the potential miscommunication would be. "I need someone to come with me to a family wedding, and I know you never have plans, and it's a free meal, and I bought you some guitar strings?" All this came out rather quickly, under her breath. She met his eye, annoyed at her shyness. This would have been so much simpler, had they not talked before she asked. Quick in, quick out, and none of this tension.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" The slyness to his tone made her want to slap the smirk off his face.

No. Not really. Not at all. No way. "Sort of?" Daria realized of all the words she could have thrown in there, she chose not to deny it. It felt strange, and unanticipated. She hadn't prepared for this. This hadn't been part of her master plan. She wasn't ready to introduce a boyfriend to her family. Especially not Trent. Why not? Oh God.

"Cool. Okay. I'm in." Trent grinned, leaning on his amp. "I don't do suits though."

"I don't do dresses, but here we are." Daria frowned, arms crossed. The reality of her situation hadn't sunk in yet, not with how he'd suddenly relaxed, nor the way her heart felt as though it was beating a little faster. This was supposed to be a friendly date. It still was a friendly date, wasn't it? Daria realized they had kept across the room from one another, and really, it wasn't like either of them had asked the other out. A favour, friendly and polite.

Trent approached her, and she took a moment to realize. Even in her slight heeled boots, she was nearly a foot shorter. She stared at him, her arms snapping out. He stopped, accepting the bag. The pair stood, Daria managing consistent eye contact despite her inner monologue of doubts. Trent, on the other hand, appeared as calm and collected as usual, inspecting the guitar strings. He smiled, nodding, and kissed her on the cheek.

A thank-you. Lingering heat spread across her skin, her toes curling and uncurling. This wasn't the appropriate reaction for a twenty-two year old woman. She'd done more than kiss, and she'd been kissed more than once, but it was unanticipated. Daria smiled, genuinely, head dropping to cover the smile.

"Thanks." Trent paused, head tilted. "And uh - really sorry about ruining your thing with Nathan."

Daria shook her head, quickly looking up at Trent. "Honestly? I only did it to make Monique happy. She kept trying to set me up with her friends."

"Maybe because she thinks you're gonna steal me away?"

Daria was struck by that comment far more than anything else they'd said. She kept her attention on his face, eyes vacant and face expressionless. The obvious had been stated and she'd been too stupid to admit it to herself. The constant bickering about Trent, dragging her all over town, all over the Zon even, and her perpetual need to pair the spares? Daria had suspected her motives had been questionable. But then what chance did she stand in comparison to Monique? As musically challenged as she was antisocial, she and Trent were oil and water.

"I doubt that."

Trent shook his head, scratching at his chin. He didn't offer anything else on that specific topic. Daria felt left in the dark, a little worried. What had Monique and Trent been saying about her? "So when's the wedding?"

"Tomorrow."

Trent blinked. "And you asked me today?"

"Like you're one to talk about punctuality." Daria smirked, trying to let her mind run over things, and not labour on his words too much. "You can borrow one of my dad's suits. I will pick you up tomorrow morning. I won't hesitate to turn a hose on you."

Trent groaned, a grin showing through his agitation. "I always knew you'd be bossy."

After a moment, they said their goodbyes. Jesse was in the lounge as Daria left. He had been chatting with Jane, though Daria couldn't guess what they were speaking about. Jane avoided looking at Daria, though there was a smirk on her lips. She pressed on, heading to her car without much going through her mind. Until, of course, she remembered the date she'd acquired for the wedding. Was it stupid of her to find excitement in the day ahead of her? She could spend it getting to know Trent better. Part of her wondered if he even needed the bribe. Maybe he'd have been willing if she'd just asked.

**AN: This was a beast. It was supposed to cover the wedding as well as the invitation to said wedding but... Um. Writing awkward, dating-but-not-dating-but-dating sections makes me happy. Review, please!**


	15. Slipping

**Chapter Fifteen: Slipping**

"I'm not wearing this."

While Daria was convinced she would have to shop for a dress for the wedding, it turned out that Helen had planned ahead. They both knew that, in the usual way, Daria would put off the dress buying till it was too late, and then simply wear whatever she had fallen asleep in the previous night. That was why Daria found a misshapen blue dress laid out on her bed when she got home from Trent's, looking much like a discarded garbage bag.

A note was folded on top of it, neatly explaining that her parents had gone out for dinner. Daria scrunched it up, tossing it into the small waste bin near her desk. Upon looking at the rest of her room, she decided that the only way she'd be awake in the morning was if she wore herself out early and passed out.

Almost half an hour later, Daria could see her floor and walk without issue. Her room still felt foreign to her, an entity beyond her control. Living out of home for years only to return to her parents made her feel more uncomfortable than anything else, what with forced family outings and events such as this. Daria took a seat at her desk, elbows set on her knees. Tomorrow was going to be awful.

There was the one upside, which was Trent in a suit. Call it a secret appreciation, but suits were one of the few things she could aesthetically appreciate on anyone, ever. A fact she played close to the vest, and didn't mention, ever, lest it become the kryptonite to her malevolent plans.

And with that mildly insane thought, Daria switched off her computer and headed for bed. She put her phone on charge, with an alarm, and even texted Trent with a reminder. She knew things weren't going to go smoothly tomorrow, but with any luck, she'd be too drunk to care. (A one-time exception to her 'never drinking again' policy, circa New Years, 2000.)

…

_Have the girls eaten?_

_Where did you put the keys!_

_I told mother not to order an extra band for the pre-reception._

Daria watched her family argue their way down the path, into the car. While her parents were going to drive up in the family car, Daria had agreed to go separately with Trent. Once the reception was underway, Daria was going to be out of there like a – a metaphor. Daria had slept terribly, between Quinn's early wake-up and her mother routinely banging around. She'd be meeting up with Trent, and they'd be driving in his car.

Which meant she was driving to his house, only to get into his car, and then drive to – no. Daria shook her head, resolving that she'd tell Trent to come over to hers, and in turn, drive her car. That made more sense. The day had only just begun, and she was already A) confused and B) ready to give up. Daria pulled out her phone, dialling the Lane home number. The rang through once, twice, and a third time. With a frown, she set the phone aside. It was fine. There was plenty of time to get there. She'd purposefully told him an earlier time, in hopes that his 'running late' would be within a few hours of the actual wedding starting. Daria didn't need to be there for the start of it, with the small talk and the horrible family questions.

Yes, she had a job.

No, she wasn't married.

No, she wasn't a lesbian.

That was _one_ time.

Daria was now dressed, a pair of combat boots squirreled into a bag. She'd agreed to _try_ heels, at least for the moment. There was always the option of going alone, and hating Trent in secret from that day on. With one final attempt at calling Trent, and no response, Daria slammed the front door and marched down the path. As she reached the curb, the sound of feet hitting the sidewalk caught her attention.

"Why did you walk here?"

Daria looked over Trent, almost breaking into dismayed laughter when she saw him in the tux tshirt and black slacks. So he had made an effort – the question was, was it a joke, or did he genuinely think his outfit would pass? Daria crossed her arms, watching him as he closed the distance between them. Before she had the chance to fume at him, he offered her his arm. She blinked, attention flicking between his arm and his face. There was no way she was adding to the drama of the day, not this early in the morning. "I need a drink."

"Me too." Trent grinned, nodding his head to her car. "My car conked out this morning, and I couldn't get it to start."

_"__Why didn't you call?"_

"I forgot. Figured it'd be faster to walk."

"I could have picked you up." Daria walked towards her car, only stepping away to get in the front seat. Trent climbed into the passenger seat, complacent with the situation. He didn't seem to notice she was mad, and if he did, he didn't question it. Maybe he was smarter – or stupider – than he looked. Daria reserved judgement till further notice. She tossed the suit her father had given her in the backseat, not bothering to mention it for the moment. They were already running behind, and when had Daria become her mother.

"Dibs on bar privileges." Trent set his hands behind his head, stretching his back out. Were it not for the nice curve of his neck and the sliver of skin that peered out from the bottom of his shirt.

"You're an ass." Daria put the car in gear, half-smiling as he laughed.

The drive was straightforward, a mix of musical debates and Trent explaining the direction Mystik Spiral was thinking of considering. Daria ignored the lack of decisions, figuring Trent was only freshly twenty. He'd tried college, but it hadn't been for him. She also understood that. It was nice to finally have a conversation with him that didn't involve Monique prancing up to them, or the Harpies eyeing her off. There was no inherent mistrust of other females when it came to Daria's mental processes, but something about small town folk seemed to breed contempt. It was similar to watching animals fight over mates, except with less faeces flying around.

Unless you counted furniture.

"I packed you a suit, by the way."

"Oh. But…" Trent plucked at his tshirt, a frown on his lips. "I have a suit."

Daria rolled her eyes, glancing over to him. "Wear the jacket and we have a deal." She didn't waver, her tone very clear cut. He'd agreed to do this, as a favour, and as recompense for the guitar strings she'd bought him. In retrospect, bribery worked wonders. Daria wished she'd thought of it sooner.

Again, becoming her mother.

The venue slowly appeared, as did the semi-familiar mass of upper-upper-middleclass people that Daria called family. Quinn was standing by her parents, and by them, her aunt. Daria climbed out of her car, handing the keys over to the valet. "Feel free to go for a joy ride, but don't hold me responsible for what you find in the trunk." Those were only words, and once her back was to the young man, she couldn't help smirking. Trent followed alongside her, now dressed in the jacket he'd been coerced into. Daria was struck as he offered his arm once more, somewhere between bright red and miserable laughter.

"Rita, you remember Daria!"

"Daria! Oh, why didn't you get the same dress as the other bridesmaids?"

"I did."

A silence fell over the group, and Daria vaguely recalled the man standing next to her aunt. Wasn't that her – boyfriend? "Are we supposed to call you Uncle Rodger, or is that not required?"

"Daria!" Helen cut in, eyes wild. Her usual brand of sarcasm wasn't appreciated, even though it had been a genuine mistake. She didn't keep tabs on her family's love life. Quinn alone would require three calls a day and a website dedicated to each date. "Roger passed away. This is Paul."

"Oh, sorry?" Daria tried not to smile, feeling terrible for the mix up but not even a little bit sorry. What had happened to Rodger, then? She kept that question to herself, and thankfully, Mr. New Guy picked up on it. The beauty of ignorance.

"Who's Roger?"

Quinn seemed agitated for a moment, as the focus of the conversation was off her. But Paul, dear sweet Paul, was an opportunity to spread information to someone. Gossiping; the one and only thing she loved more than clothes, boys or ignoring Daria. "He fell onto a cow." Quinn's smile was angelic, ignoring what her words inferred.

A round sound of disgust sounded, between Paul and Jake, then Helen who seemed annoyed. The between Daria and Trent, there was only one other people who seemed indifferent to the news.

"And he was one of the lucky ones." Amy smiled, her sports car zipping off down the asphalt, a happy valet presumably inside. Daria turned quickly, her first genuine smile of the day (potentially the month) forming. Her aunt Amy was almost like a big sister, one she consistently enjoyed spending time with. Though she was a little entitled, Daria couldn't help but see a reflection of herself in the older woman. Trent seemed to agree, his eyes flicking between Amy and Daria.

"Amy, why must you encourage such morbid humour." Helen sighed, hand pressed to her forehead. All the men stayed quiet, sharing wary glanced between one another.

"Hey, what's the point of a senseless tragedy if you can't find a little humor in it? I like the way you think, Daria." Amy smirked, practically oozing with amusement. "Speaking of Daria - are you darling Daria's date?" A look of extreme approval appeared, one Daria hadn't anticipated. It seemed tastes also ran in the family. Whether that good or bad, Daria wasn't sure. What she did know was all attention was focused on her, and not on her sister for the first time in a very long while.

The dress, while better on Quinn, sat acceptably on her figure. She was still far more waifish than her sister, with a tiny bit more of a tummy and less hips. Daria could nitpick all the reasons the dress looked terrible on her, but no one else seemed to notice. She was passed compliments, especially from Rita.

"Amy, you didn't RSVP, so I don't know if we have spaces for you…" Rita and Amy split into the building, leaving Paul with Daria and her family. That quickly split, too, with Helen and Trent making a beeline for the bar. Paul and Jake appeared to have some small talk going about the glory days, and as for Quinn – who knew. A gaggle of girls in similar dresses had swooped over, pulling Daria and Quinn into their collective bosom.

There was a terrible wind picking up, brushing through all the gazebos and pitched tents. Each girl was, apparently, matched with a boy. All the groomsmen were younger than eighteen, and eager to not be matched up with Daria. The sentiment was mutual, though one boy hadn't run fast enough.

Luhrman.

Someone could run forever, and never be able to outrun that monster of a first name. Daria was suddenly a normal name, as much as Maoris or Trixie. Each time she tried to start a conversation with anyone outside of the bridesmaids and groomsmen, she found herself herded back into the group. At one point she'd tried to drink a glass of champagne, only to have one of her old, senile uncles snatch the glass out of her hand and pitch her cheek.

_Goddamnit._

"I wish I could drink. I'm afraid the inner demons of my tormented abyss will appear if I do." Luhrman lingered by the group, woefully strung out against a tent pole.

"You might want to get that looked at. They say inner demons add years to your complexion." Quinn cut in, a thoughtful tone to her unhelpful words.

"As astute as always, Quinn." Daria rolled her eyes when Quinn instantly began asking if astute meant she was short. So close, yet so far. There was no one here she wanted to speak to. These shoes, the ones she'd agreed to try, were killing her feet. The date she had brought along to sate her parents was apparently now her mother's drinking buddy, and honestly? Daria wondered if she went and found a rickety old house she could whisk herself off to Oz.

Damn wind. Damn Trent. Damn, _damn_. Daria pressed her hand to her forehead, having taken a seat at an unoccupied round table. People were dancing. Or, there were, until the wind turned into vicious rain. It was almost two in the afternoon. When were they going to do the damn ceremony? When Noah's ark was finally built, and they could march the ants in two by two?

"You looked like you could use a drink."

Daria sat up, smiling as Amy set down a scotch on the rocks. It wasn't a drink Daria particularly enjoyed, but it was better than the poorly spiked juice. She sipped at it, face twinged into a frown as the burn hit her throat. It reminded her of the Mystik Spiral concert, when she and Trent had gotten McDonalds together while drunk.

"He's cute."

"Amy, I don't think Luhrman is even old enough to drive a car." Daria's lips quirked, eyes focused on the ice.

Amy left the statement, sipping her own drink in satisfied silence. "I meant Trent, but good to know what you're thinking about." Amy paused, eyes rolled to the ceiling.

Daria shrugged, trying to keep as emotionally distant from the conversation as she could manage. "He's a friend." There was no further explanation, no additional information. She shut out Amy much in the same way she shut out Helen, Quinn, and anyone else who tried to pry further into her life.

"Because of the Troy thing, right?"

A mumble, sounding like 'maybe' sounded across the rim of her glass.

"Thought so." Amy kept a smile on her lips, wry and distanced. The silence remained for a moment, at least until Amy nudged Daria with her index finger. "I'm just saying, if you end up – I don't know – _not_ interested in him –"

Daria went bright red, eyes turned down straight into her lap.

"Knew you liked him. And, God, I have Roberto. The personal trainer? Calm down, Daria. Not trying to steal your date." Amy chuckled, swirling her own double shot of scotch. It, of course, was nearly gone. Daria hadn't even made a dent in hers yet. They sat in silence, watching the awkward sway of the crowd. "You may want to rescue him from your mom, though. I heard talk of babies…"

This sounded like an afterthought, but Daria knew it had been Amy's reason for coming outside. It also happened to be the reason for Daria falling over (twice) in the middle of the dance floor, trying to run in heels she could barely walk in. They eventually fell in a scrambled mess by the stereo as Daria rushed, barefoot, for the bar inside. She'd go get shoes later, but now, it was time to stop dwelling in her own little bubble and save her date.

Trent.

Save Trent.

Save Trent, her date.

The suit jacket, Daria thought adamantly. That was what made him difficult to look at for more than a few moments. She couldn't pick if that was good or bad, but she knew that was a contributing factor. The hardwood floor slipped under her feet as she practically slid over to the bar. Stockings, along with heels and tight dresses, were the work of the Devil. It was a pity; usually Daria was _such_ a fan of his work. Along the mahogany bar was Helen and Trent, who appeared to be sharing a bottle of champagne.

"I tell her! I tell her she's pretty, and does she listen? Noooo."

"Tell me about it." Trent's drowsy lilt made Daria think he had no idea what was happening, but he wasn't a lush. Her suspicious eyes focused on them, debating between eavesdropping and enlisting them both into witness protection programs to ensure they never spoke again.

"I'm – I'm sorry I – you seem like a nice boy. You just need a job. And – And then? Whatever she wants, I want for her." Helen pressed her hand to her lips, a huffed little burp surfacing from behind her fingertips. She cackled, along with Trent, and Daria decided that she would simply enter herself into witness protection. She rushed over to them, slipping over in the process. As quickly as she'd fallen, she was back up, a stream of curse words falling from her lips.

"Trent."

"Babe!" Trent beamed, his arm straight around her waist. He smelled thickly of an alcohol cabinet, much like her mother did. Her plan had failed, as Helen and Trent took to hugging her, one on either side. With little traction, she couldn't force herself away. "You look hot. Didn't I say she looked hot?"

"Super hot!"

"Mom, please, you can't afford the therapist bill as it is." Daria breathed, eyes wide behind her glasses.

"Really hot."

Daria buried her face in her hands for a moment, red from the hairline down. She didn't know what to say at this point, sandwich between Trent who was speaking far too close to her ear, and Helen who was weeping onto the baby blue dress. Daria could already feel the smear of makeup down her side.

"Helen, I think you've had enough."

"Don't tell me what to do, Rita!"

The arms around her waist vanished, or Helen's did at the very least. Instead, there was only Trent, who was currently trying to cuddle his face into her chest. Daria smacked him off with her purse, turning on her heel. She had grown used to the stockings, able to walk with some semblance of control now.

And just like that, she headed out towards the car park. With her number in hand, she wanted to get in her car and speed off. There was so much going through her mind, unsure where to begin. Trent and her mom got along, at least when they were drunk. That was a plus. But they'd been talking about her. What had they said? Why couldn't they talk about anything except her?

Daria decided it was their only unifying factor. They had nothing else in common, save for how emotionally unavailable she was. Even Amy, a woman she saw briefly each year, picked it out of her without a blink. They all acted as if it was a new thing. Daria was, and always had, run away from intimacy. The one time she hadn't, she'd lost her best friend and her boyfriend in one day.

As the rain fell outside, she glumly waited for a valet to appear. She couldn't walk down the cobblestone and gravel in her stockings, not unless she wanted her feet cut into tiny pieces. At the very least, she was alone, sitting in the rain on the stone steps. So far, she'd fallen over more than a handful of times, been talked about, judged… What else did the universe want to pile onto that?

"Daria?"

Daria's head remained forward, lips pursed together.

"I have an emergency dress, if you want it." Quinn peeked out from the building, looking somewhat upset. When her sister didn't say anything, she gently reached out to nudge her shoulder. "You look like a mess, Daria."

"That appears to be the consensus of the day."

Quinn snatched her elbow, risking manicure and hair to pull her sister into the entry corridor. "No, seriously. I can't let you take – oh my god, your face. How is your makeup not running? Wait, stupid question." Quinn smiled, lips pulled into a tight smile. "Look, I saw mom and Trent being idiots, and then Rita and mom fighting and…" The younger girl trailed off, ho-humming a few words under her breath.

"I have some clothes that are going to go to waste if someone doesn't wear them, and your dress is ruined. We still have to take photos, and I don't want to stand next to you looking like that." Quinn shrugged, tucking some hair behind her ear. "Also, um, watching mom and Rita, I kind of felt – I felt bad. About us, and how we are sometimes. And I'm older now, and you are too, and maybe you – you aren't the worst thing ever…"

"Right, okay." Daria waved her hand, looking around for a bathroom. "At this point, I'll take the only sober and not insane member of my family. You're being upfront with your judgement about me. I respect that." The words hurt to admit, but she was sick of people pussyfooting around her, as if she was about to explode. Ignoring the fact she had exploded not only a half hour ago.

**A/N: Bonding Quinn and Daria is my favourite. I also wanted this to have a different twist than the original episode. I hope it doesn't feel too rushed! Sorry that this took forever and a bit to post. Again, let me know what you think. I'm always interested to see if the characters actually feel realistic (in relation to their original depiction.)**


	16. Shutdown

**Chapter Sixteen: Shutdown**

Today had become an experiment in the strange and unlikely. Daria was sitting quietly in the spacious stall usually reserved for those with handicaps or physical impairments. Quinn had been quick to shove her into the stall, insisting it was a kind of emergency, one that required more space to cope. Daira didn't get a chance to disagree, though she wished she could. The extra space did make it easier to climb out of her wet, baby blue dress.

"So mom is drunk."

"Yep." Quinn kept picking at her nails, trying to make sure the paint was even.

"Dad is… where?"

"I don't know."

There was a pause between them.

"Trent?"

"God Daria, I'm nice enough to let you borrow a dress I haven't even worn twice yet, can we stop with the questions?"

Daria held her tongue, knowing that was a very good point. She could have suffered in silence, drenched and upset, or she could accept the niceness that Quinn was pushing at her. Daria found it strange to admit, but there may be hope yet for her little sister. "Thanks again."

"Don't mention it." Quinn paused. "Though I may have to charge you for the dress. There's no way I can wear it after you've worn it."

"Knew there was a catch."

The door creaked open, with Daria trying to keep her wet hair away from her shoulders.

"Come over here." Quinn gestured at the hand dryer, a sagely expression on her face. "Trust me. Whenever there's unexpected rain at school, we - that is, the Fashion Club - have to spend at least a period fixing our hair. Um. Not that we skip class." Quinn laughed, light and dismissive.

Daria gave her an incredulous look, approaching her with caution. It took twenty minutes to get her hair dry, and Daria wasn't sure if it was worth it. Quinn kept prodding and shifting her locks, trying to style it as she went. It didn't bother Daria as much as she let on, but it wasn't an experience she wanted to repeat. Her own dumb fault for sitting in the rain, she knew.

"I made sure to give a little for my evening dress. I mean, I knew they were having a sponge cake, and I love sponge cake." Quinn had commented, embarrassed by her own guilty pleasure.

Almost an hour after she had vanished, Daria reappeared in the reception hall with Quinn. Her blue monstrosity had been replaced by a two-tone grey evening gown with more implied shape than what she had been wearing earlier. It wasn't her first choice, and cut too close at all the hems, but it wasn't her place to question a gift. The wind and rain outside had died down, for the moment. Daria noticed there were tables in disarray, a priest fighting one of the groomsmen, and a pair of women on the floor.

"_I never meant for you to feel like you didn't matter -"  
_

"_No, no, it's my own fault!"_

That was Helen and Rita were sitting in quiet, teary silence, hugging out some sisterly issues. Jake and Paul were arguing over something – _God knows what _– and Luhrman was eating at the snack bar, seemingly distracted by the contents of a bun. Daria made a note to avoid the boy to the best of her ability. There was no point in trying to entertain him when she wanted to kill someone. No one would know it was her, after all. No motive. No evidence. Daria smiled absently, her attention returning to Quinn.

"I promise not to resent you, if you promise not to resent me. Openly, anyway."

Quinn smiled weakly. "Sounds good." There was a small nod, and then Quinn was gone.

Off to her date, Daria expected. Which reminded her, she needed to find her date. A frown formed. With each step she took, the steel-toed boot poked out from under the dress. She wasn't sure where Quinn had gotten them from, as she'd left them in the car. "Don't question my abilities during a fashion emergency." That had been enough to deter Daria from asking any further question. The new question in her mind was where Trent had gotten off to. He wasn't here, and she knew he wouldn't have left. He wouldn't have, would he?

Daria paced around the building, and managed to spoke her aunt standing with Trent just outside the back exit. She let out a sound of shock and annoyance, teeth grit. She was about to turn, to leave, but Amy spotted her before she could escape. Trent excused himself - they'd been smoking, she could see that - and came back inside.

"Knew you'd turn up."

"You're an ass."

Trent's brow twitched, a look of annoyance forming. "You ran off, and I fell over trying to follow after you, and… And I figured you wanted space or whatever..." He looked somewhat reproachful for his problematic behaviour. While he often appeared entirely useless in terms of how much he noticed, he had picked up on her anger. Perhaps he stood the chance of surviving the rest of the day.

Daria remained quiet, unsure what to reply with. That seemed like a legitimate decision, but she was annoyed at him for not even trying. Though, as he said, he had. She had been taken into the women's bathroom. Was he supposed to find her in there? What would she have said, if he were to have found her before Quinn had? The question of what if always bugged her. There was no way of knowing for sure. Each felt like venom, welled up in the pit of her stomach. It was unlike her, in the worst possible way.

"Your mom doesn't hate me." His tone was hopeful, as if this would negate Daria's bad mood.

Though she had been avoiding eye contact, she finally looked up to him, lips pursed. "I guess someone here has to like you." Daria smiled, arms crossed. She shook her head after a moment, before Trent thought over it too much.

"Ouch." Trent grinned.

Was she mad at him for getting along with her mother? Daria ran a hand through her hair, trying to get the frou-frou styling out of it. Not that she didn't appreciate the effort Quinn had gone to, to make her look less like a drowned rat. What had started out as a forced family outing with one of the few friends she had made in her life had quickly become about Trent trying to get along with her parents. Or at the very least, her mother. Her experience of the day had been the part where her mother and 'date' sandwiched her into the most awkward hug she'd ever been in. Still, her willingness to commit homicide dwindled as she reflected, unsure what else she expected from Trent and an open bar.

"Did you have fun?"

"Family events aren't my thing." Trent shrugged. His hands were tucked into his pants pockets. The jacket was nowhere to be seen, and Daria sincerely hoped he hadn't lost it. She'd have to replace it, and her dad might burst a blood vessel. Again.

"The jacket I lent you?"

"Cloaked it. Didn't wanna get it smokey, or boozey..."

Daria raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, I put it on the back of a chair." Trent smiled, idly pointing over to a table nearby. As he said, there was the jacket. Daria's scepticism faded for the moment, her eyes focused on him. "What did I do?"

Though there was a lot Daria wanted to say, she didn't want to openly admit anything was wrong. That seemed counterintuitive to her entire existence. Why talk about what was wrong when you could keep pretending you were fine, and keep everything at arm's length? Daria shook her head, fingers raking through her hair. "Nothing."

"_Lying." _Daria's attention snapped up, to the figure behind Trent. "Sorry kid." Amy stood there, smiling far too much for Daria to trust her. "That's the same tone of voice you give your mom when something is wrong. Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt." Amy held up her hands in defence before handing the deck of cigarettes back to Trent. "You left them outside."

"Aren't mine." Trent smirked, pocketing them anyway. He glanced between Amy and Daria, only to shake his head. "Trippy."

Amy laughed, if only for a moment. "Nice to meet you, Trent. I might head out. This place is a little too much for me. But, Daria?" An almost serious tone appeared, her eyes focused keenly on her niece. "I always knew you'd be the one to follow in my footsteps. But, don't. It's not worth it." Amy waved absently, strutting out towards the entrance hall. This left Daria with far more questions than answers, and she was tired of it.

"Did you want to spend time with my aunt Rita next, or Quinn?"

"What?" Trent narrowed his eyes, hands dug deep in his pockets. "You're the one who's been avoiding me. Your mom wanted to drink with some company, Amy came out for a smoke…" Trent trailed off, as unsure as Daria looked. They kept quiet, neither of them knowing what to say. "You look good."

"Thanks."

Trent frowned, an expression Daria hasn't seen on him often. "I didn't agree to come along for you to go back to square one." Trent wasn't one for conflict. Daria knew that from how often he acted as the voice of reason between Max and Nick, and with how relaxed he tended to be. She felt almost offended for how frank he was being, but in reality, he'd sacrificed a day to her and her family antics. And he hadn't complained once. He appeared to have more to say on the matter, but his reluctance to pry was a blessing and a curse.

Daria wasn't going to apologize, though. It felt wrong. There wasn't anything she had done wrong. There was her family, being insane, piling on assumptions and liquor until they all burst into a pile of issues. Then there was the lingering, annoying feeling that he'd been her date, and hadn't even spent part of the day with her. Daria realized they were standing there, alone, together, and all she wanted to was get mad and accusatory. And for what? "You were supposed to keep me sane, and get my family off my back." That was what she managed, after all that quiet, all the thoughts reeling through her mind.

"I did, didn't I?" Trent offered.

And, _yeah_. Okay. No one had asked her about who she was dating, or if she was married. That was true. But he'd opted to drink with her mother instead of - instead of what? Spend time with her while she complained and moped about being here? Daria felt her face go a darker shade of red, out of embarrassment and annoyance. "I thought -" Daria paused, trying to find words.

"I figured I make nice with the family, then – later - " Trent, for the first time she'd realized, seemed strapped for words.

"Then?"

Trent batted a few ideas around, stuck somewhere between amused and irritated. "Being spontaneous doesn't come naturally to you, does it?"

"I can be spontaneous." Daria' natural monotone made them both crack a smile, the tension lifting and settling all at once. What were his plans for later? Did he have plans, or was he assuming they'd go back to her place and - Daria stopped the thought before it even formed. "So, later?" Daria prodded, knowing she would probably not like the answer.

"You'll see."

Daria crossed her arms, again noticing the distinct lack of people around. She couldn't help but feel worried; what if her family had killed each other off and she was left to continue the family name all on her own? Her eyes flicked back to Trent. Her mind worked in strange, counterintuitive ways.

"Wouldn't mind a repeat of the McDonalds massacre. Wait till they serve breakfast; buy enough pancakes to survive the winter, and then just bunk up a room – yours or mine." Trent grinned.

"You never told me what else happened that night."

Trent seemed to freeze, ignoring the fact he hardly moved to begin with. "I thought you were kidding about not remembering."

"That bad?"

"No." Trent shook his head, hands running over his face. A light smile formed. "Forget about it."

Daria sincerely hated herself sometimes. They managed to get back to banter, to light conversation, and she managed to ruin it with one ill-placed joke. "What?"

"Are you gonna punch me if I tell you?"

Daria cocked an eyebrow.

"You were still using all the big words, even when you were getting cushions for me to sleep on." Trent scruffed a hand at his chin, eyes focused somewhere between Daria and himself. "You wound up falling asleep on my shoulder in the Tank, when I was complaining about Monique, so when we went to drop you off, you couldn't make it to the door. I ended up helping you, and you kept hugging me." Trent smiled then, as if remembering it fondly. Daria was continuing to turn red, from the hairline down. "I figured you were just going for a kiss on the cheek and missed, but… Yeah. You missed pretty bad, got my ear. Kinda bit me. I didn't know what to do with you, so I put you to bed and passed out."

If you looked closely, you could see Daria's mind shut down.

"And - hey! No. I don't care. I mean, I laughed about it later." Trent laughed, trying to place a hand on her shoulder.

"Great."

"It's funny, Daria. I didn't laugh at you, I just -"

"_Right_."

This was the _2000 New Years Party_ all over again, the hot streak of shame and lack of judgement forming in her mind all over again. She was an adult, and as such, thought she could handle herself. It was times like these, in the shambles of her cousin's wedding, that she realized she really couldn't handle herself. Trent was humouring her, at best. Trent had laughed at her, and had probably told Monique.

_Want to hear a funny story? Daria actually thought she had a shot with me.  
_

"Let's go."

Trent winced at her tone, following her as she headed out to the car. The alcohol he'd had earlier had been minimal at best. A few beers, sure, but most of it had been from Helen. He had to admire the woman, taking care of two daughters and holding a legitimate job. Right now, he was staring at the back of one of her daughters, the anger all shaped out in how she had her shoulders squared and her footsteps wide and decisive. The jacket she had lent him was in her hand, scrunched at best.

Once in the car, Trent took to fumbling with the deck of cigarettes he'd been given by Amy. She'd known they were hers and yet she'd handed them off to him. Was it an excuse to butt in? Trent glanced over to Daria, and was met with nothing. "Daria, I didn't laugh at you."

Nothing.

Daria felt like an idiot. She had bribed Trent here, and been to his gigs as a way to raise his band's revenue. She was an extra, a piece of excess in his life. It was probably time for her to push off, and find some more appropriate friends; ones who liked books, and stamp collecting; ones who never drank, and never did anything outside of the library.

"You gonna talk to me?"

The silence said it all.

Trent braced his elbow on the window sill of the car door, eyes narrowed into the distance. "I don't want to make things worse, but…" Trent paused, glancing over to Daria. "Why are you getting so angry with me right now? I can't work it out."

Daria thought about it. Words formed, sure, she was mad. But - _why_? That was a question she couldn't answer. "I don't know." Daria answered finally as they left the highway, half an hour out from Lawndale. They'd sat in silence for some time, but it didn't feel comfortable. She was used to Trent, to an extent. She knew what to expect. She liked spending time with him. The wedding was supposed to be some sort of test, one he had failed.

Or had he?

"So. You're angry at me, but you don't know why." Trent said the words as coolly as he could manage. "I like you Daria. I'm pretty sure you know that. I don't know what I did. Was it talking to your mom?"

Daria shook her head.

"Smoking with your aunt?"

Daria shook her head again.

"I'm not the smartest one in the car, I get that, but it kinda sounds like you're mad for the sake of being mad at me."

Daria pursed her lips. "I kissed you, but you didn't tell me. You act like you're interested, but - you're not, are you? I'm still just the nerdy chick you met at a pizza place, and invited out because you could. You have Monique, you have friends, and you could have whatever you want. Why, then, would you want me? You don't. At all. There's no reason." Daria frowned, stopping the car in a small car park. They'd gotten close to Lawndale now, and Daria couldn't keep driving. Not while she teetered between aggression and upset.

"I _just _said I like you. I don't like people Daria – I_ date_ people. I've never liked anyone. Not without a whole lot of bullshit to go with it." Trent sat quietly, arm hooked over the back of his seat. "Tell me if I'm wrong, but I don't think this is about me, Daria."

Daria sat stationary, distant expression on her face.

Together they sat, in the quiet of Daria's car. She kept her attention forward while Trent stared at her. He seemed perplexed, but not angry;_ never _angry. There was a look of contemplation, of consideration, but nothing that Daria could discern. "You like me - up until I met your family. Why?" Trent visibly swallowed, eyes trying to catch hers.

There was a vague shift in her posture, as if avoiding a topic.

"Daria, I'm not mad at you. At all. Hell, the kiss was kinda cute, until you started getting a little too frisky with my piercings. And, you invited me to this wedding thing, and I thought that was pretty awesome. I mean, I get to be a legitimate date for the first time ever." Trent trailed off, not used to speaking for such extended periods of time. He was trying his best to catch her eye, and not to impose himself on her. "I kinda want to do this again, and… I need to know what I did, so I don't - screw it up."

"It's not you." And that was when Daria cracked, her expression lost. "It's a long story."

"I've got time."


End file.
